


Fallen - Reddie

by Itfloc



Series: Fallen AU Series [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, I Love the Losers Club (IT), M/M, Reddie, Slow Burn, fallen au, fallen but reddie, reddie au, this is just for fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 91,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23285263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itfloc/pseuds/Itfloc
Summary: There’s something achingly familiar about Richie Tozier.Mysterious and aloof, he captures Eddie Kaspbrak’s attention from the moment he sees him on his first day at Sword & Cross boarding school in Derry. He’s the one bright spot in a place where cell phones are forbidden, the other students are screwups, and security cameras watch every move.Except Richie wants nothing to do with Eddie- he goes out of his way to make that very clear. But he can’t let it go. Drawn to him like a moth to a flame, Eddie has to find out what Richie is so desperate to keep secret... even if it kills him.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Fallen AU Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1674601
Comments: 42
Kudos: 41





	1. In The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.
> 
> This first chapter is written a little weird but that’s only because it’s the prologue... it makes more sense later.

***

*prologue*

HELSTON, ENGLAND

SEPTEMBER 1854

Around midnight, his eyes at last took shape. The look in them was feline, half determined and half tentative—all trouble. Yes, they were just right, those eyes. Rising up to his fine, elegant brow, inches from the light cascade of his hair.

He held the paper at arm’s length to assess his progress. It was hard, working without him in from of him, but then, he never could sketch in his presence. Since he had arrived from London—no, since he had first seen him—he’d had to be careful always to keep him at a distance.

Every day now he approached him, and every day was more difficult than the one before. It was why he was leaving in the morning—for India, for the Americas, he didn’t know or care. Wherever he ended up, it would be easier than being here.

He leaned over the drawing again, sighing as he used his thumb to perfect the smudged charcoal pout of his full bottom lip. This lifeless paper, cruel imposter, was the only way to take him with him.

Then, straightening up in the leather library chair, he felt it. That brush of warmth on the back of his neck.

Him.

His mere proximity gave him the most peculiar sensation, like the kind of heat sent out when a log shatters to ash in a fire. He knew without turning around: He was there. He covered his likeness on the bound papers in his lap, but he could not escape him.

His eyes fell on the ivory-upholstered settee across the parlor, where only hours earlier he’d turned up unexpectedly, later than the rest of his party, in a rose cotton coat and trousers, to applaud the eldest daughter of their host after a fine turn at the harpsichord. He glanced across the room, out the window to the veranda, where the day before he’d crept up on him, a fistful of wild white peonies in his hand. He still thought the pull he felt toward him was innocent, that their frequent rendezvous in the gazebo were merely… happy coincidences. To be so naïve! He would never tell him otherwise—the secret was his to bear.

He stood and turned, the sketches left behind on the leather chair. And there he was, pressed against the ruby velvet curtain in his plain white housecoat. His brown hair had fallen from its combed back style. The look on his face was the same as the one he’d sketched so many times. There was the fire, rising in his cheeks. Was he angry? Embarrassed? He longed to know, but could not allow himself to ask.

“what are you doing here?” He could here the snarl in his voice, and regretted its sharpness, knowing he would never understand.

“I—I couldn’t sleep,” he stammered, moving toward the fire and his chair. “I saw the light in your room and then” – he paused, looking down at his hands— “your trunk outside the door. Are you going somewhere?”

“I was going to tell you—” He broke off. He shouldn’t lie. He had never intended to let him know his plans. Telling him would only make things worse. Already, he had let things go too far, hoping this time would be different.

He drew nearer, and his eyes fell on his sketchbook. “You were drawing me?”

His startled tone reminded him how great the gap was in their understanding. Even after all the time they’d spent together these past few weeks, he had not yet begun to glimpse the truth that lay behind their attraction.

This was good—or at least, it was for the better. For the past several days, since he’d made the choice to leave, he’d been struggling to pull away from him. The effort took so much out of him, that as soon as he was alone, he had to give to his pent-up desire to draw him. He had filled up his book with pages of his arched neck, his marble collarbone, the brown abyss of his hair.

Now, he looked back at the sketch, not ashamed at being caught drawing him, but worse. A cold chill spread through him as he realized that his discovery—the exposure of his feelings—would destroy him. He should have been more careful. It always began like this.

“Warm milk with a spoonful of treacle,” he murmured, his back still to him. Then he added sadly, “It helps you sleep.”

“How did you know? Why, that’s exactly what my mother used to—”

“I know,” he said, turning to face him. The astonishment in his voice did not surprise him, yet he could not explain to him how he knew, or tell him how many times he had administered this very drink to him in the past when the shadows came, how he had held him until he fell asleep.

He felt his touch as though it were burning through his shirt, his hand laid gently on his shoulder, causing him to gasp. They had not yet touched in this life, and the first contact always left him breathless.

“Answer me,” he whispered. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Then take me with you,” he blurted out. Right on cue, he watched him suck in his breath, wishing to take back his plea. He could see the progression of his emotions settle in the crease between his eyes: He would feel impetuous, then bewildered, then ashamed by his own forwardness. He always did this, and too many times before, he had made the mistake of comforting him at this exact moment.

“No,” he whispered, remembering… always remembering… “I sail tomorrow. If you care for me at all, you won’t say another word.”

“If I care for you,” he repeated, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “I—I love—”

“Don’t.”

“I have to say it. I—I love you, I’m quite sure, and if you leave—”

“If I leave, I save your life.” He spoke slowly, trying to reach a part of him that might remember. Was it there at all, buried somewhere? “Some things are more important than love. You won’t understand, but you have to trust me.”

His eyes drilled into him. He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. This was his fault, too—he always brought out his contemptuous side when he spoke down to him.

“You mean to say there are things more important than this?” he challenged, taking his hands and drawing them to his heart.

Oh, to be him and not know what was coming! Or at least to be stronger than he was and be able to stop him. If he didn’t stop him, he would never learn, and the past would only repeat itself, torturing them both again and again.

The familiar warmth of his skin under his hands made him tilt his head back and moan. He was trying to ignore how close he was, how well he knew the feel of his lips on his, how bitter he felt that all of this had to end. But his fingers traced his so lightly. He could feel his heart racing through his thin cotton housecoat.

He was right. There was nothing more than this. There never was. He was about to give in and take him in his arms when he caught the look in his eyes. As if he’d seen a ghost.

He was the one to pull away, a hand to his forehead.

“I’m having the strangest sensation,” he whispered.

No—was it already too late?

His eyes narrowed into the shape in his sketch and he came back to him, his hands on his chest, his lips parted expectantly. “Tell me I’m mad, but I swear I’ve been right here before…”

So it was too late. He looked up, shivering, and could feel the dark descending. He took one last chance to seize him, to hold him as tightly as he’d been yearning to for weeks.

As soon as his lips melted into his, both of them were powerless. The honeysuckle taste of his mouth made him dizzy. The closer he pressed against him, the more his stomach churned with the thrill and the agony of it all. His tongue traced his, and the fire between them burned brighter, hotter, more powerful with every new touch, every new exploration. Yet none of it was new.

The room quaked. An aura around them started to glow.

He noticed nothing, was aware of nothing, understood nothing besides their kiss.

He alone knew what was about to happen, what dark companions were prepared to fall on their reunion. Even though he was unable to alter the course their lives yet again, he knew.

The shadows swirled directly overhead. So close, he might have touched them. So close, he wondered whether he could hear what they were whispering. He watched as the cloud passed over his face. For a moment he was a spark of recognition growing in his eyes.

Then there was nothing, nothing at all.


	2. Perfect Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie starts his new school....  
> Also the first chapter was like a prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

Eddie barged into the fluorescent-lit lobby of the Sword & Cross School ten minutes later than he should have. A barrel-chested attendant with ruddy cheeks and a clipboard clamped under an iron bicep was already giving orders—which meant Eddie was already behind.

“So remember, it’s meds, beds, and reds,” the attendant barked at a cluster of three other students all standing with their backs to Eddie, “Remember the basics and no one gets hurt.”

Eddie hurried to slip in behind the group. He was still trying to figure out whether he’d filled out the giant stack of paperwork correctly, whether this shaved-headed guide standing before them was a man or a woman, whether there was anyone to help him with this enormous duffel bag, whether his parents were going to get rid of his beloved Plymouth Fury the minute they arrived home from dropping him off here. They’d been threatening to sell the car all summer, and now they had a reason even Eddie couldn’t argue with: No one was allowed to have a car at Eddie’s new school. His new reform school, to be precise.

He was still getting used to the term.

“Could you, uh, could you repeat that?” he asked the attendant. “What was it, meds—?”

“Well, look what the storm blew in,” the attendant said loudly, then continued, enunciating slowly; “Meds, If you’re one of the medicated students, this is where you go to keep yourself doped up, sane, breathing, whatever.” Woman, Eddie decided, studying the attendant. No man would be catty enough to say all that in such a saccharine tone of voice.

“Got it.” Eddie felt his stomach heave. “Meds.”

He’s been off meds for years now. After the accident this past summer, Dr. Sanford, her specialist in Hopkinton—and the reason his parents had sent him to boarding school all the way in New Hampshire—had wanted to consider medicating him again. Though he’d finally convinced him of his quasi-stability, it had taken an extra month of analysis on his part just to stay of those awful antipsychotics.

Which was why he was enrolling in his senior year at Sword & Cross a full month after the academic year had begun. Being a new student was bad enough, and Eddie had been really nervous about having to jump into classes where everyone else was already settled. But from the looks of this tour, he wasn’t the only new kid arriving today.

He sneaked a peek at the three other students standing in a half circle around him. At his last school, Dover Prep, the campus tour on the first day was where he’d met his best friend, Callie. On a campus where all the other students had practically been weaned together, it would have been enough that Eddie and Callie were the only non-legacy kids. But it didn’t take long for the two to realize they also had the exact same obsession with the exact same old movies—especially where Albert Finney was concerned. After their discovery freshman year while watching Two for the Road that neither one of them could make a bag of popcorn without setting off the fire alarm, Callie and Eddie hadn’t left each other’s sides. Until… until they’d had to.

At Eddie’s sides today were three boys. One of the boys seemed easy enough to figure out, blonde and model worthy, with tanned skin and light brown eyes.

“I’m Ben,” he said, flashing Eddie a big smile that disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced, before Eddie could even offer his own name. The boy’s waning interest reminded him more of an American version of the girls at Dover than someone he’d expect at Sword & Cross. Eddie couldn’t decide whether this was comforting of not, any more than he could imagine what a boy who looked like this would be doing at reform school.

To Eddie’s right was a guy with short brown hair, brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles across his nose. But the way he wouldn’t even meet his eyes, just kept picking at a hangnail on his thumb, gave Eddie the impression that, like him, he was probably still stunned and embarrassed to find himself here.

The guy to his left, on the other hand, fit Eddie’s image of this place a little bit too perfectly. He was average height and thin, with a DJ bag slung over his shoulder, cropped auburn hair, and large, dancing blue eyes. His lips were full and a natural rose color most girls would kill for. At the back of his neck, a black tattoo in the shape of a sunburst seemed almost to grow on his light skin, rising up from the edge of his black T-shirt.

Unlike the other two, when this guy turned to meet his gaze, he held it and didn’t let go. His mouth was set in a straight line, but his eyes were warm and alive. He gazed at him, standing as still as a sculpture, which made Eddie feel rooted to his spot, too. He sucked in his breath. Those eyes were intense, and alluring, and, well, a little bit disarming.

With some loud throat-clearing noises, the attendant interrupted the boy’s trancelike stare. Eddie blushed and pretended to be very busy scratching his head.

“Those of you who’ve learned the ropes are free to go after you dump your hazards.” The attendant gestured at a large cardboard box under a sign that said in big black letters PROHIBITED MATERIALS. “And when I say free, Todd”—she clamped a hand down on the freckled kid’s shoulder, making him jump— “I mean gymnasium-bound to meet your preassigned student guides. You” –she pointed at Eddie— “dump your hazards and stay with me.”

The four of them shuffled toward the box and Eddie watched, baffled, as the other students began to empty their pockets. They blonde boy pulled out a three-inch Swiss Army knife. The blue-eyed guy reluctantly dumped a can of spray paint and a box cutter. Even the hapless Todd let loose several books of matches and a small container of lighter fluid. Eddie felt almost stupid that he wasn’t concealing a hazard of his own—but when he saw the other kids reach into their pockets and chuck their cell phones into the box, he gulped.

Leaning forward to read the PROHIBITED MATERIALS sign a little more closely, he saw that cell phones, pagers, and all two-way radio devices were strictly forbidden. It was bad enough that he couldn’t have his car! Eddie clamped a sweaty hand around the cell phone in his pocket, his only connection to the outside world. When the attendant saw the look on his face, Eddie received a few quick slaps on the cheek. “Don’t swoon on me, kid, they don’t pay me enough to resuscitate. Besides, you get one phone call once a week in the main lobby.”

One phone call… once a week? But—

He looked down at his phone one last time and saw that he’d received two new text messages. It didn’t seem possible that these would be his two last text messages. The first one was from Callie.

Call immediately! Will be waiting by the phone all nite so be ready to dish. And remember the mantra I assigned you. You’ll survive! BTW, for what it’s worth, I think everyone’s totally forgotten about…

In typical Callie fashion, she’d gone on so long that Eddie’s crap cell phone cut the message off four lines in. In a way, Eddie was almost relieved. He didn’t want to read about how everyone from his old school had already forgotten what had happened to him, what he’d done to land himself in this place.

He sighed and scrolled down to his second message. It was from his mom, who’d only just gotten the hang of texting a few weeks ago, and who surely had not known about this one-call-once-a-week thing or she would never have abandoned her son here. Right?

Eddie Bear, we are always thinking of you. Be good and try to eat enough protein. We’ll talk when we can. Love M&D

With a sigh, Eddie realized his parents must have known. How else to explain their drawn faces when he’d waved goodbye at the school gates this morning, duffel bag in hand? At breakfast, he’d tried to joke about finally losing that appalling New England accent he’d picked up at Dover, but his parents hadn’t even cracked a smile. He’d thought they were still mad at him. They never did the whole raising-their-voice thing, which meant that when Eddie really messed up, they just gave him the old silent treatment. Now he understood this morning’s strange demeanor: His parents were already mourning the loss of contact with their only son.

“We’re still waiting on one person,” the attendant sang. “I wonder who it is.” Eddie’s attention snapped back to the Hazard Box, which was now brimming with contraband he didn’t even recognize. He could feel the auburn-haired boy’s blue eyes staring at him. He looked up and noticed that everyone was staring. His turn. He closed his eyes and slowly opened his fingers, letting his phone slip from his grasp and land with a sad thunk on top of the heap. The sound of being all alone.

Todd and Ben headed for the door without so much as a look in Eddie’s direction, but the third boy turned to the attendant.

“I can fill him in,” he said, nodding at Eddie.

“Not part of our deal,” the attendant replied automatically, as if she’d been expecting this dialogue. “You’re a new student again—that means new-student restrictions. Back to square one. You don’t like it, you should have thought twice before breaking parole.”

The boy stood motionless, expressionless, as the attendant tugged Eddie—who’d stiffened at the word “parole”—toward the end of a yellowed hall.

“Moving on,” she said, as if nothing had just happened. “Beds.” She pointed out the west-facing window to a distant cinder-block building. Eddie could see Ben and Todd shuffling slowly toward them, with the third boy walking slowly, as if catching up to them were the last thing on his list of things to do.

The dorm was formidable and square, a solid gray block of a building whose thick double doors gave away nothing about the possibility of life inside them. A large stone plaque stood planted in the middle of the dead lawn, and Eddie remembered from the Web site the words PAULINE DORMITORY chiseled into it. It looked even uglier in the hazy morning sun than it had looked int eh flat black-and-white photograph.

Even from this distance, Eddie could see black mold covering the face of the dorm. All the windows were obstructed by rows of thick steel bars. He squinted. Was that barbed wire topping the fence around the building?

The attendant looked down at a chart, flipping through Eddie’s file. “Room sixty-three. Throw your bag in my office with the rest of them for now. You can unpack this afternoon.”

Eddie dragged his red duffel bag toward three other nondescript black trunks. Then he reached reflexively for his cell phone, where he usually keyed in things he needed to remember. But as his hand searched his empty pocket, he sighed and committed the room number to memory instead.

He still didn’t see why he couldn’t just stay with his parents; their house in Derry was less than a half hour from Sword & Cross. It had felt so good to be back home in Derry, where, as his mom always said, even the wind blew lazily. Maine’s softer, slower pace suited Eddie way more than New England ever had.

But Sword & Cross didn’t feel like Derry. It hardly felt like anywhere at all, except the lifeless, colorless place where the court had mandated he board. He’d overheard his dad on the phone with the headmaster the other day, nodding in his befuddled biology-professor way and saying, “Yes, yes, maybe it would be best for him to be supervised all the time. No, no, we wouldn’t want to interfere with your system.”

Clearly his father had not seen the conditions of his only son’s supervision. This place looked like a maximum-security prison.

“And what about, what did you say—the reds?” Eddie asked the attendant, ready to be released from the tour.

“Reds,” the attendant said, pointing toward a small wired device hanging from the ceiling: a lens with a flashing red light. Eddie hadn’t seen it before, but as soon as the attendant pointed the first one out, he realized they were everywhere.

“Cameras?”

“Very good,” the attendant said, voice dripping condescension. “We make them obvious in order to remind you. All the time, everywhere, we’re watching you. So don’t screw up—that is, if you can help yourself.”

Every time someone talked to Eddie like he was a total psychopath, he came that much closer to believing it was true.

All summer, the memories had haunted him, in his dreams and in the rare moments his parents left him alone. Something had happened in that cabin, and everyone (including Eddie) was dying to know exactly what. The police, the judge, the social worker, had all tried to pry the truth out of him, but he was as clueless about it all as they were. He and Trevor had been joking around the whole evening, chasing each other down to the row of cabins on the lake, away from the rest of the party. He’d tried to explain that it had been one of the best nights of his life, until it turned into the worst.

He’d spent so much time replaying that night in his head, hearing Trevor’s laugh, feeling his hands close around his waist, and trying to reconcile his gut instinct that he really was innocent.

But now, every rule and regulation at Sword & Cross seemed to work against that notion, seemed to suggest that he was, in fact, dangerous and needed to be controlled.

Eddie felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Look,” the attendant said. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re far from the worst case here.”

It was the first humane gesture the attendant had made toward Eddie, and he believed that it was intended to make him feel better. But. He’d been sent here because of the suspicious death of the guy he’d been crazy about, and still he was “far from the worst case here”? Eddie wondered what else exactly they were dealing with at Sword & Cross.

“Okay, orientation’s over,” the attendant said. “You’re on your own now. Here’s a map if you need to find anything else.” She gave Eddie a photocopy of a crude hand-drawn map, then glanced at her watch. “You’ve got an hour before your first class, but my soaps come on in five, so”—she waved her hand at Eddie— “make yourself scarce. And don’t forget,” she said, pointing up at the cameras one last time. “The reds are watching you.”

Before Eddie could reply, a skinny, red-haired girl appeared in front of him, wagging her long fingers in Eddie’s face.

“Ooooooh,” the girl taunted in a ghost-story-telling voice, dancing around Eddie in a circle. “The reeds are watching youuuu.”

“Get out of here, Beverly, before I have you lobotomized,” the attendant said, though it was clear from her first brief but genuine smile that she had some coarse affection for the crazy girl.

It was also clear that Beverly did not reciprocate the love. She mimed a jerking-off motion at the attendant, then stared at Eddie, daring him to be offended.

“And just for that,” the attendant said, jotting a furious note in her book, “you’ve earned yourself the task of showing Little Miss Sunshine around today.”

She pointed at Eddie, who looked anything but sunny in his black jeans, black converse, and black shirt. Under the “Dress Code” section, the Sword & Cross Web site had cheerily maintained that as long as the students were on good behavior, they were free to dress as they pleased, with just two small stipulations: style must be modest and color must be black. Some freedom.

The too-big mock turtleneck Eddie’s mom had forced on him this morning did nothing for his curves, and even his best feature was gone: His curled brown hair, which used to hang down around his ears, had been almost completely shorn off. The cabin fire had left his scalp singed and his hairline patchy, so after the long, silent ride home from Dover, Mom had planted Eddie in the bathtub, brought out Dad’s electric razor, and wordlessly shaved his head. Over the summer, his hair had grown out a little, just enough so that his curls hovered just above is ears.

Beverly sized him up, tapping one finger against her pale lips. “Perfect,” she said, stepping forward to loop her arm through Eddie’s. “I was just thinking I could really use a new slave.”

The door to the lobby swung open and in walked the kid with blue eyes. He shook his head and said to Eddie, “This place isn’t afraid to do a strip search. So if you’re packing any other hazards”—he raised an eyebrow and dumped a handful of unrecognizables in the box— “save yourself the trouble.”

Behind Eddie, Beverly laughed under her breath. The boy’s head shot up, and when his eyes registered Beverly, he opened his mouth, then closed it, like he was unsure how to proceed.

“Beverly,” he said evenly.

“Bill,” she returned.

“You know him?” Eddie whispered, wondering whether there were the same kinds of cliques in reform schools as there were in prep schools like Dover.

“Don’t remind me,” Beverly said, dragging Eddie out the door into the gray and swampy morning.

The back of the main building let out onto a chipped sidewalk bordering a messy field. The grass was so overgrown, it looked more like a vacant lot than a school commons, but a faded scoreboard and a small stack of wooden bleachers argued otherwise.

Beyond the commons lay four severe-looking buildings: the cinder-block dormitory on the far left, a huge old ugly church on the far right, and two other expansive structures in between that Eddie imagined were the classrooms.

This was it. His whole world was reduced to the sorry sight before his eyes.

Beverly immediately veered right off the path and led Eddie to the field, sitting him down on top of one of the waterlogged wooden bleachers.

The corresponding setup at Dover had screamed Ivy League jock-in-training, so Eddie had always avoided hanging out there. But this empty field, with its rusted, warped goals, told a very different story. One that wasn’t as easy for Eddie to figure out. Three turkey vultures swooped overhead, and a dismal wind whipped through the bare branches of the oak trees. Eddie ducked his chin down into his mock turtleneck.

“Soooo,” Beverly said. “Now you’ve met Randy.”

“I thought his name was Bill.”

“We’re not talking about him,” Beverly said quickly. “I mean she-man in there.” Beverly jerked her head toward the office where they’d left the attendant in front of the TV. “Whaddya think—dude or chick?”

“Uh, chick?” Eddie said tentatively. “Is this a test?”

Beverly cracked a smile. “The first of many. And you passed. At least, I think you passed. The gender of most of the faculty here is an ongoing, schoolwide debate. Don’t worry, you’ll get into it.”

Eddie thought Beverly was making a joke—in which case, cool. But this was all such a huge change from Dover. At his old school, the green-tie-wearing, pomaded future senators had practically oozed through the halls in the genteel hush that money seemed to lay over everything.

More often than not, the other Dover kids gave Eddie a don’t-smudge-the-white-walls-with-your-fingerprints sideways glance. He tired to imagine Beverly there: lazing on the bleachers, making a loud, crude joke in her peppery voice. Eddie tried to imagine what Callie might think of Beverly. There’d been no one like her at Dover.

“Okay, spill it,” Beverly ordered. Plopping down on the top bleacher and motioning for Eddie to join her, she said. “What’d ya do to get in here?”

Beverly’s tone was playful, but suddenly Eddie had to sit down. It was ridiculous, but he’d half expected to get through his first day of school without the past creeping up and robbing him of his thin façade of calm. Of course people here were going to want to know.

He could feel the blood thrumming at his temples. It happened whenever he tried to think back—really think back—to that night. He’d never stop feeling guilty about what happened to Trevor, but he also tried really hard not to get mired down in the shadows, which by now were the only things he could remember about the accident. Those dark, indefinable things that he could never tell anyone about.

Scratch that—he’d started to tell Trevor about the peculiar presence he’d felt that night, about the twisting shapes hanging over their heads, threatening to mar their perfect evening. Of course, by then it was already too late. Trevor was gone, his body burned beyond recognition, and Eddie was… was he… guilty?

No one knew about the murky shapes he sometimes saw in the darkness. They’d always come to him. They’d come and gone for so long that Eddie couldn’t even remember the first time he’d seen them. But he could remember the first time he realized that the shadows didn’t come for everyone—or actually, anyone but him. When he was seven, his family had been on vacation in Hilton Head and his parents had taken him on a boat trip. It was just about sunset when the shadows started rolling in over the water, and he’d turned to his father and said, “What do you do when they come, Dad? Why aren’t you afraid of the monsters?”

There were no monsters, his parents assured him, but Eddie’s repeated insistence on the presence of something wobbly and dark had gotten him several appointments with the family eye doctor, and then glasses, and then appointments with the ear doctor after he made the mistake of describing the hoarse whooshing noise that the shadows sometimes made—and then therapy, and then more therapy, and finally the prescription for antipsychotic medication.

But nothing ever made them go away.

By the time he was fourteen, Eddie refused to take his meds. That was when they found Dr. Sanford, and the Dover School nearby. They flew to New Hampshire, and his father drove their rental car up a long, curved driveway to a hilltop mansion called Shady Hallows. They planted Eddie in front of a man in a lab coat and asked him if he still saw his “visions.” His parents’ palms were sweating as they gripped his hands, brows furrowed with the fear that there was something terribly wrong with their son.

No one came out and said that if he didn’t tell Dr. Sanford what they all wanted him to say, he might be seeing a whole lot more of Shady Hollows. When he lied and acted normal, he was allowed to enroll at Dover, and only had to visit Dr. Sanford twice a month.

Eddie had been permitted to stop taking the horrible pills as soon as he started pretending he didn’t see the shadows anymore. But he still had no control over when they might appear. All he knew was that the mental catalog of places where they’d come for him in the past—dense forests, murky waters—became the places he avoided at all costs. All he knew was that when the shadows came, they were usually accompanied by a cold chill under his skin, a sickening feeling unlike anything else.

Eddie straddled one of the bleachers and gripped his temples between his thumbs and middle fingers. If he was going to make it through today, he had to push his past to the recesses of his mind. He couldn’t stand probing the memory of the night by himself, so there was no way he could air all the gruesome details to some weird, maniacal stranger.

Instead of answering, he watched Beverly, who was lying back on the bleachers, sporting a pair of enormous black sunglasses that covered the better part of her face. It was hard to tell, but she must have been staring at Eddie, too, because after a second, she shot up from the bleachers and grinned.

“Cut my hair like yours,” she said.

“What?” Eddie gasped. “Your hair is beautiful.”

It was true: Beverly had the long, thick locks that most girls would kill for. His own loose brown curls sparkled in the sunlight, giving off just a tinge of blonde. Eddie tucked his hair behind his ears, even though it wasn’t long enough to do anything but flop back down in front of them.

“Beautiful schmootiful,” Beverly said. “Yours is sexy, cute. And I want it.”

“Oh, um, okay,” Eddie said. Was that a compliment? He didn’t know if he was supposed to be flattered of unnerved by the way Beverly assumed she could have whatever she wanted, even if what she wanted belonged to someone else. “Where are we going to get—"

“Ta-da!” Beverly reached into her bag and pulled out the Swiss Army knife Ben had tossed into the Hazard Box. “What?” she said, seeing Eddie’s reaction. “I always bring my sticky fingers on new-student drop-off days. The idea alone gets me through the dog days of Sword & Cross internment… er… summer camp.”

“You spent the whole summer… here?” Eddie winced.

“Ha! Spoken like a true newbie. You’re probably expecting a spring break.” She tossed Eddie the Swiss Army knife. “We don’t get to leave this hellhole. Ever. Now cut.”

“What about the reds?” Eddie asked, glancing around with the knife in his hand. There were bound to be cameras somewhere out here.

Beverly shook her head. “I refuse to associate with pansies. Can you handle it or not?”

Eddie nodded.

“And don’t tell me you’ve never cut hair before.” Beverly grabbed the Swiss Army knife back from Eddie, pulled out the scissor tool, and handed it back. “Not another word until you tell me how fantastic I look.”

In the “salon” of his parents’ bathtub, Eddie’s mother had tugged the remains of his hair between her fingers and cut it all off. Eddie was sure there had to be a more strategic method of cutting hair, but that was about all he knew. He gathered Beverly’s hair in his hands, thread the hair in between his fingers, and began to hack.

The hair fell to his feet and Beverly gasped and whipped around. She picked it up and held it to the sun. Eddie’s heart constricted at the sight. But Beverly just let a thin smile spread across her lips. She ran her fingers through cut hair.

“Awesome,” she said. “Keep going.”

“Beverly,” Eddie whispered before he could stop himself. “Your neck. It’s all—”

“Scarred?” Beverly finished. “You can say it.”

The skin on Beverly’s neck, from the back of her left ear all the way down to her collarbone, was jagged and marbled and shiny. Eddie’s mind went to Trevor—to those awful pictures. Even his own parents wouldn’t look at him after they saw them. He was having a hard time looking at Beverly now.

Beverly grabbed Eddie’s hand and pressed it to the skin. It was hot and cold at the same time. It was smooth and rough.

“I’m not afraid of it,” Beverly said. “Are you?”

“No,” Eddie said, though he wished Beverly would take her hand away so Eddie could take his away, too. His stomach churned as he wondered whether this was how Trevor’s skin would have felt.

“Are you afraid of who you really are, Eddie?”

“No,” Eddie said again quickly. It must be so obvious that he was lying. He closed his eyes. All he wanted from Sword & Cross was a fresh start, a place where people didn’t look at him the way Beverly was looking at him right now. At the school’s gates that morning, when his father had whispered the Kaspbrak family motto in his ear— “Kaspbraks never crash”—it had felt possible, but already Eddie felt so run down and exposed. He tugged his hand away. “So how’d it happen?” he asked, looking down.

“Remember how I didn’t press you when you clammed up about what you did to get here?” Beverly asked, raising her eyebrows.

Eddie nodded.

Beverly gestured to the scissors. “Touch it up in the back, okay? Make me look real pretty. Make me look like you.”

Even with the same exact cut, Beverly would still only look like a very undernourished version of Eddie. While Eddie attempted to even out the first haircut he’d ever given, Beverly delved into the complexities of life at Sword & Cross.

“That cell block over there is Augustine. It’s where we have our so-called Social events on Wednesday nights. And all of our classes,” she said, pointing at a building the color of yellowed teeth, two buildings to the right of the dorm. It looked like it had been designed by the same sadist who’d done Pauline. It was dismally square, dismally fortress like, fortified by the same barbed wire and barred windows. An unnatural-looking gray mist cloaked the walls like moss, making it impossible to see whether anyone was over there.

“Fair warning,” Beverly continued. “You’re going to hate the classes here. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t.”

“Why? What’s so bad about them?” Eddie asked. Maybe Beverly just didn’t like school in general. With her black nail polish, black eyeliner, and the black bag that only seemed big enough to hold her new Swiss Army knife, she didn’t exactly look bookish.

“The classes here are soulless,” Beverly said. “Worse, they’ll strip you of your soul. Of the eighty kids in the place, I’d say we’ve only got about three remaining souls.” She glanced up. “Unspoken for, anyway…”

That didn’t sound promising, but Eddie was hung up on another part of Beverly’s answer. “Wait there are only eighty kids in this whole school?” the summer before he went to Dover, Eddie had pored over the thick Prospective Students handbook, memorizing all the statistics. But everything he’d learned so far about Sword & Cross had surprised him, making him realize that he was coming into reform school completely unprepared.

Beverly nodded, making Eddie accidentally snip off a chunk of hair he’d meant to leave. Whoops. Hopefully Beverly wouldn’t notice—or maybe she’d think it was edgy.

“Eight classes, ten kids a pop. You get to know everybody’s crap pret-ty quickly,” Beverly said. “And vice versa.”

“I guess so,” Eddie agreed biting his lip. Beverly was joking, but Eddie wondered whether she’d be sitting here with that cool smirk in her grayish-green eyes if she knew the exact nature of Eddie’s backstory. The longer Eddie could keep his past under wraps, the better off he’d be.

“And you’ll want to steer clear of the hard cases.”

“Hard cases?”

“The kids with the wristband tracking devices,” Beverly said. “About a third of the student body.”

“And they’re the ones who—”

“You don’t want to mess with. Trust me.”

“Well, what’d they do?” Eddie asked.

As much as Eddie wanted to keep his own story a secret, he didn’t like the way Beverly was treating him like some sort of ingénue. Whatever those kids had done couldn’t be much worse than what everyone told him he had done. Or could it? After all, he knew next to nothing about these people and this place. The possibilities stirred up a cold gray fear in the pit of his stomach.

“Oh, you know,” Beverly drawled. “Aided and abetted terrorist acts. Chopped up their parents and roasted them on a spit.” She turned around to wink at Eddie.

“Shut up,” Eddie said.

“I’m serious. Those psychos are under much tighter restrictions than the rest of the screwups here. We call them the shackled.”

Eddie laughed at Beverly’s dramatic tone.

“Your haircut’s done,” he said, running his hands through Beverly’s hair to fluff it up a little. It actually looked really cool.

“Sweet,” Beverly said. She turned to face Eddie. When she ran her fingers through her hair, the sleeves of her black sweater fell back on her forearms and Eddie caught a glimpse of a black wristband, dotted with rows of silver studs, and, on the other wrist, another band that looked more… mechanical. Beverly caught him looking and raised her eyebrows devilishly.

“Told ya,” she said. “Total effing psychos.” She grinned. “Come on, I’ll give you the rest of the tour.”

Eddie didn’t have much choice. He scrambled down the bleachers after Beverly, ducking when one of the turkey vultures swooped dangerously low. Beverly, who didn’t seem to notice, pointed at a lichen-swathed church at the far right of the commons.

“Over here, you’ll find our state-of-the-art gymnasium,” she said, assuming a nasal tour guide tone of voice. “Yes, yes, to the untrained eye it looks like a church. It used to be. We’re kind of in an architectural hand-me-down Hell here at Sword & Cross. A few years ago, some calisthenic-crazed shrink showed up ranting about overmedicated teens ruining society. He donated a shit-ton of money so they’d convert it into a gym. Now the powers that be think we can work out our ‘frustrations’ in a ‘more natural and productive way.’”

Eddie groaned. He had always loathed gym class.

“Guy after my very own heart,” Beverly commiserated. “Coach Diante is ee-vil.”

As Eddie jogged to keep up, he took in the rest of the grounds. The Dover quad had been so well kept, all manicured and dotted with evenly spaced, carefully pruned trees. Sword & Cross looked like it had been plopped down and abandoned in the middle of a swamp. Weeping willows dangled to the ground, kudzu grew along the walls in sheets, and every third step they took squished.

And it wasn’t just the way the place looked. Every humid breath Eddie took stuck in his lungs. Just breathing at Sword & Cross made him feel like he was sinking into quicksand.

“Apparently the architects got in a huge standoff over how to retrofit the style of the old military academy buildings. The upshot is we ended up with half penitentiary, half medieval torture zone. And no gardener,” Beverly said, kicking some slime off her combat boots. “Gross. Oh, and there’s the cemetery.”

Eddie followed Beverly’s pointing finger to the far left side of the quad, just past the dormitory. An even thicker cloak of mist hung over the walled-off portion of land. It was bordered on three sides by a thick forest of oaks. He couldn’t see into the cemetery, which seemed almost to sink below the surface of the ground, but he could smell the rot and hear the chorus of cicadas buzzing in the trees. For a second, he thought he saw the dark swish of the shadows—but he blinked and they were gone.

“That’s a cemetery?”

“Yep. This used to be a military academy, way back in the Civil War days. So that’s were they buried all their dead. It’s creepy as all get-out. And lawd,” Beverly said, piling on a fake southern accent, “it stinks to high Heaven.” Then she winked at Eddie. “We hang out there a lot.”

Eddie looked at Beverly to see if she was kidding. Beverly just shrugged.

“Okay, it was only once. And it was only after a really big pharmapalooza.”

Now, that was a word Eddie recognized.

“Aha!” Beverly laughed. “I just saw a light go on up there. So somebody is home. Well, Eddie, my dear, you may have gone to boarding school parties, but you’ve never seen a throw-down like reform school kids do it.”

“What’s the difference?” Eddie asked, trying to skirt the fact that he’d never actually been to a big party at Dover.”

“You’ll see.” Beverly paused and turned to Eddie. “You’ll come over tonight and hang out, okay?” She surprised Eddie by taking his hand. “Promise?”

“But I thought you said I should stay away from the hard cases,” Eddie joked.

“Rule number two—don’t listen to me!” Beverly laughed, shaking her head. “I’m certifiably insane!”

She started jogging again and Eddie trailed after her.

“Wait, what was rule number one?”

“Keep up!”

***

As they came around the corner of the cinder-block classrooms, Beverly skidded to a halt. “Affect cool,” she said.

“Cool,” Eddie repeated.

All the other students seemed to be clustered around the kudzu-strangled trees outside Augustine. No one looked exactly happy to be hanging out, but no one looked ready to go inside yet, either.

There hadn’t been much of a dress code at Dover, so Eddie wasn’t used to the uniformity it gave a student body. Then again, even though every kid here was wearing the same black jeans, black mock-turtleneck T-shirt, and black sweater tied over the shoulders or around the waist, there were still substantial differences in the way the pulled it off.

A group of tattooed girls standing in a crossed-armed circle wore bangle bracelets up to their elbows. The black bandanas in their hair reminded Eddie of a film he’d once seen about motorcycle-gang girls. He’d rented it because he’d thought: What could be cooler than an all-girls motorcycle gang? Now Eddie’s eyes locked with those of one of the girls across the lawn. The sideways squint of the girl’s darkly lined cat-eyes made Eddie quickly shift the direction of his gaze.

A guy and a girl who were holding hands had sewn sequins in the shape of skulls and crossbones on the back of their black sweaters. Every few seconds, one of them would pull the other in for a kiss on the temple, on the earlobe, on the eye. When they looped their arms around each other, Eddie could see that each wore the blinking wristband tracking device. They looked a little rough, but it was obvious how much in love they were. Every time he saw their tongue rings flashing, Eddie felt a lonely pinch inside his chest.

Behind the lovers, a cluster of blonde boys stood pressed against the wall. Each of them wore his sweater, despite the heat. And they all had on white oxford shirts underneath, the collars starched straight up. Their black pants hit the vamps of their polished dress shoes perfectly. Of all the students on the quad, these boys seemed to Eddie to be the closest thing to Doverites. But a closer look quickly set then apart from the boys he used to know. Boys like Trevor.

Just standing in a group, these guys radiated a specific kind of toughness. It was right there in the look in their eyes. It was hard to explain, but it suddenly struck Eddie that just like him, everyone at this school had a past. Everyone here probably had secrets they wouldn’t want to share. But he couldn’t figure out whether this realization made him feel more or less isolated.

Beverly noticed Eddie’s eyes running over the rest of the kids.

“We all do what we can to make it through the day,” she said shrugging. “But in case you hadn’t observed the low-hanging vultures, this place pretty much reeks of death.” She took a seat on a bench under a weeping willow and patter the spot next to her for Eddie.

Eddie wiped away a mound of wet, decaying leaves, but just before he sat down, he noticed another dress code violation.

A very attractive dress code violation.

He wore a bright red scarf around his neck. It was far from cold outside, but he had on a black leather motorcycle jacket over his black sweater, too. Maybe it was because his was the only spot of color on the quad, but he was all that Eddie could look at. In fact, everything else so paled in comparison that, for one long moment, Eddie forgot where he was.

He took in his deep black hair and light skin. His high cheekbones, the dark sunglasses that covered his eyes, the soft shape of his lips. In all the movies Eddie had seen, and in all the books he’d read, the love interest was mind-blowingly good-looking—except for that one little flaw. The chipped tooth, the charming cowlick, the beauty mark on his left cheek. He knew why—if the hero was too unblemished, he’d risk being unapproachable. But approachable or not, Eddie had always had a weakness for the sublimely gorgeous. Like this guy.

He leaned up against the building with his arms crossed lightly over his chest. And for a split second, Eddie saw a flashing image of himself folded into those arms. He shook his head, but the vision stayed so clear that he almost took off toward him.

No. That was crazy. Right? Even at a school full of crazies, Eddie was well aware that this instinct was insane. He didn’t even know him.

He was talking to a tall kid with darker skin and a toothy smile. Both of them were laughing hard and genuinely—in a way that made Eddie strangely jealous. He tried to think back and remember how long it had been since he’d laughed, really laughed, like that.

“That’s Richie Tozier,” Beverly said, leaning in and reading his mind. “I can tell he’s attracted somebody’s attention.”

“Understatement,” Eddie agreed, embarrassed when he realized how he must have look to Beverly.

“Yeah, well, if you like that sort of thing.”

“What’s not to like?” Eddie said, unable to stop the words from tumbling out.

“His friend there is Mike,” Beverly said, nodding in the darker skinned kid’s direction. “He’s cool. The kind of guy who can get his hands on things, ya know?”

Not really, Eddie thought, biting his lip. “What kinds of things?” 

Beverly shrugged, using her poached Swiss Army knife to saw off a fraying strand from a rip in her black jeans. “Just things. Ask-and-you-shall-receive kind of stuff.”

“What about Richie?” Eddie asked. “What’s his story?”

“Oh, he doesn’t give up.” Beverly laughed, then cleared her throat. “No one really knows,” she said. “He holds pretty tight to his mystery man persona. Could just be your typical reform school asshole.”

“I’m no stranger to assholes,” Eddie said, though as soon as the words came out, he wished he could take them back. After what had happened to Trevor—whatever had happened—he was the last person who should be making character judgements. But more than that, the rare time he made even the smallest reference to that night, the shifting black canopy of the shadows came back to him, almost like he was right back at the lake.

He glanced again at Richie. He took his glasses off and slid them inside his jacket, then turned to look at him.

His gaze caught his, and Eddie watched as his eyes widened and then quickly narrowed in what looked like surprise. But no—it was more than that. When Richie’s eyes held his, his breath caught in his throat. He recognized him from somewhere.

But he would have remembered meeting someone like him. He would have remembered feeling as absolutely shaken up as he did right now.

He realized they were still locking eyes when Richie flashed him a smile. A jet of warmth shot through him and he had to grip the bench for support. He felt his lips pull up in a smile back at him, but then Richie raised his hand in the air.

And flipped him off.

Eddie gasped and dropped his eyes.

“What?” Beverly asked, oblivious to what had just gone down. “Never mind,” she said. “We don’t have time. I sense the bell.”

The bell rang as if on cue, and the whole student body started the slow shuffle into the building. Beverly was tugging on Eddie’s hand and spouting off directions about where to meet her next and when. But Eddie was still reeling from being flipped the bird by such a perfect stranger. His momentary delirium over Richie had vanished, and now the only thing he wanted to know was: What was that guy’s problem?

Just before he ducked into his first class, he dared glance back. Richie’s face was blank, but there was no mistaking it—he was watching him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are liking this so far. Please let me know what you think


	3. Fit To Be Tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie finally meets Stan.... but don’t worry he isn’t as bad as he seems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

Eddie had a piece of paper with his schedule printed on it, a half-empty notebook he’d started to fill at Dover in his Advanced European History class last year, two number two pencils, his favorite eraser, and the sudden bad feeling that Beverly might have been right about the classes at Sword & Cross.

The teacher had yet to materialize, the flimsy desks were arranged in haphazard rows, and the supply closet was barricaded with stacks of dusty boxes piled in front of it.

What was worse, none of the other kids seemed to notice the disarray. In fact, none of the other kids seemed to notice that they were in a classroom at all. They all stood clustered near the windows, taking one last drag of a cigarette here, repositioning the extra-large safety pins on their T-shirts there. Only Todd was seated at an actual desk, carving something intricate onto its surface with his pen. But the other new students seemed to have already found their places among the crowd. Bill had the preppy Dover-looking guys in a tight cluster around him. They must have been friends when he was enrolled at Sword & Cross the first time. Ben was shaking hands with the tongue-pierced girl who’d been making out with the tongue-pierced guy outside. Eddie felt stupidly envious that he wasn’t daring enough to do anything but take a seat closer to the unthreatening Todd.

Beverly flitted about the others, whispering things Eddie couldn’t make out, like some sort of goth princess. When she passed Bill, he tousled her newly chopped hair.

“Nice mop, Beverly.” He smirked, tugging on a strand at the back of her neck. “My compliments to your stylist.”

Beverly swatted him away. “Hands off, Bill. Which is to say: In your dreams.” She jerked her head in Eddie’s direction. “And you can give your compliments to my new pet, right over there.”

Bill’s blue eyes sparkled at Eddie, who stiffened. “I believe I will,” he said, and started walking toward him.

He smiled at Eddie, who was sitting with his ankles crossed under his chair and his hands folded neatly on his heavily graffitied desk.

“Us new kids have to stick together,” he said. “Know what I mean?”

“But I thought you’d been here before.”

“Don’t believe everything Beverly says.” He glanced back at Beverly, who was standing at the windows, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Oh no, she didn’t say anything about you,” Eddie said quickly, trying to remember whether or not that was actually true. It was clear Bill and Beverly didn’t like each other, and even though Eddie was grateful to Beverly for taking him around this morning, he wasn’t ready to pick any sides yet.

“I remember when I was a new kid here… the first time.” He laughed to himself. “My band had just broken up and I was lost. I didn’t know anyone. I could have used someone without”—he glanced at Beverly— “an agenda to show me the ropes.”

“What, and you have no agenda?” Eddie said, surprised to hear a flirting lilt in his voice.

An easy smile spread across Bill’s face. He raised one eyebrow at him. “And to think I didn’t want to come back here.”

Eddie blushed. He didn’t usually get involved with rocker guys—but then again, none of them had ever pulled the desk next to him even closer, plopped down beside him, and started at him with eyes quite so blue. Bill reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue guitar pick with the number 44 printed on it.

“This is my room number. Come by anytime.”

The guitar pick wasn’t far from the color of Bill’s eyes, and Eddie wondered how and when he’d had these printed up, but before he could answer—and who knew what he would have answered—Beverly clamped a hard hand down on Bill’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, did I not make myself clear? I’ve already called dibs on this one.”

Bill snorted. He looked straight at Eddie as he said, “See, I thought there was still such a thing as free will. Maybe your pet has a path of his own in mind.”

Eddie opened his mouth to claim that of course he had a path, it was just his first day here and he was still figuring out the ropes. But by the time he was able to get the words straight in his head, the minute-warning bell rang, and the little gathering over Eddie’s desk dissolved.

The other kids filed into desks around him, and soon it stopped being so noteworthy that Eddie was sitting prim and proper at his desk, keeping his eye on the door. Keeping a lookout for Richie.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could feel Bill sneaking peeks at him. He felt flattered—and nervous, then frustrated with himself. Richie? Bill? He’d been at this school for what, forty-five minutes? —and his mind was already juggling two different guys. The whole reason he was at this school at all was because the last time he’d been interested in a guy, things had gone horribly, horribly wrong. He should not be allowing himself to get all smitten (twice!) on his very first day of school.

He looked over at Bill, who winked at him again, then brushed his auburn hair away from his eyes. Staggering good looks aside—yeah, right—he really did seem like a useful person to know. Like him, he was still adjusting to the setting, but had clearly been around the Sword & Cross block a few times before. And he was nice to him. He thought about the blue guitar pick with his room number, hoping he didn’t give those out freely. They could be… friends. Maybe that was all he needed. Maybe then he would stop feeling quite so obviously out of place at Sword & Cross.

Maybe then he’d be able to forgive the fact that the only window in the classroom was the size of a business envelope, caked with lime, and looked out on a massive mausoleum in the cemetery.

Maybe then he’d be able to forget the nose-tickling odor of peroxide emanating from the bleached-blonde punk chick sitting in front of him.

Maybe then he could actually pay attention to the stern, mustached teacher who marched into the room, commanded the class to shapeupandsitdown, and firmly closed the door.

The smallest tweak of disappointment tugged at his heart. It took him a moment to trace where it had come from. Until the teacher shut the door, he’d been holding out a little hope that Richie would be in his first class, too.

What did he have next hour, French? He looked down at his schedule to check what room it was in. Just then, a paper airplane skidded across his schedule, overshot his desk, and landed on the floor by his bag. He checked to see who’d noticed but the teacher was busy tearing through a piece of chalk as he wrote something on the board.

Eddie glanced nervously to his left. When Bill looked over at him, he gave him a wink and a flirty little wave that caused his whole body to tense up. But he didn’t seem to have seen or been responsible for the paper airplane.

“Psssst,” came the quiet whisper behind him. It was Beverly, who motioned with her chin for Eddie to pick up the paper plane. Eddie bent down to reach for it and saw his name written in small black letters on the wind. His first note!

Already looking for the exit?

Not a good sign.

We’re in this hellhole until lunch.

That had to be a joke. Eddie double-checked his schedule and realized with horror that all three of his morning classes were in this very room 1—and all three would be taught the very same Mr. Cole.

He’d detached himself from the blackboard and was sleepily threading his way through the room. There was no introduction for the new kids—and Eddie couldn’t decide whether he was glad about that or not. Mr. Cole merely slapped syllabi down on each of the four new student’s desks. When the stapled packet landed in front of Eddie, he leaned forward eagerly to take a look. History of the World, it read. Circumventing the Doom of Mankind. Hmmm, history had always been his strongest subject, but circumventing doom?

A closer look at the syllabus was all it took for Eddie to see that Beverly had been right about being in a hellhole: an impossible reading load, TEST in big, bold letters every third class period, and a thirty-page paper on—seriously?—the failed tyrant of your choice. Thick black parentheses had been drawn in black Sharpie around the assignments Eddie had missed during the first few weeks. In the margins, Mr. Cole had written See me for Makeup Research Assignment. If there was a more effective way of soul-sucking, Eddie would be scared to find out.

At least he had Beverly sitting back there in the next row. Eddie was glad the precedent had already been set for SOS note-passing. He and Callie used to text each other on the sly, but to make it here, Eddie was definitely going to need to learn to fold a paper airplane. He tore a sheet from his notebook and tried to use Beverly’s as a model.

After a few origami-challenged minutes, another plane landed on his desk. He glanced back at Beverly, who shook her head and gave him a you-have-so-much-to-learn roll of the eyes.

Eddie shrugged an apology and swiveled back around to open the second note:

Oh, and until you’re confident about you aim, you might not want to fly any Richie-related messages my way. Dude behind you is famous on the football field for his interceptions.

Good to know. He hadn’t even seen Richie’s friend Mike come in behind him. Now he turned very slightly in his seat until he glimpsed Mike out of the corner of his eye. He dared a glance down at the open notebook on his desk and caught his full name. Mike Hanlon.

“No note-passing,” Mr. Cole said sternly, causing Eddie to whip his head back to attention. “No plagiarizing, and no looking at one another’s papers. I didn’t put myself through graduate school only to receive your divided attention.”

Eddie nodded in unison with the other dazed kids just as a third paper plane glided to a stop in the middle of his desk

Only 172 minutes to go!

***

A hundred and seventy-three torturous minutes later, Beverly was leading Eddie to the cafeteria. “What’d ya think?” she asked.

“You were right,” Eddie said numbly, still recovering from how painfully bleak his first three hours of class had been. “Why would anyone teach such a depressing subject?”

“Aw, Cole’ll ease up soon. He puts on his no-guff face every time there’s a new student. Anyway,” Beverly said, poking Eddie, “it could be worse. You could have gotten stuck with Ms. Tross.”

Eddie glanced down at his schedule. “I have her for biology in the afternoon block,” he said with a sinking feeling in his gut.

As Beverly sputtered out a laugh, Eddie felt a bump on his shoulder. It was Bill, passing them in the hall on his way to lunch. Eddie would have gone sprawling if not for Bill’s hand reaching back to steady him.

“Easy there.” Bill shot him a quick smile, and he wondered if he had bumped him intentionally. But he didn’t seem that juvenile. Eddie glanced at Beverly to see whether she’d noticed anything. Beverly raised her eyebrows, almost inviting Eddie to speak, but neither of them said a thing.

When they crossed the dusty interior windows separating bleak hall from bleaker cafeteria, Beverly took hold of Eddie’s elbow.

“Avoid the chicken-fried steak at all costs,” she coached as they followed the crowd into the din of the lunchroom. “The pizza’s fine, the chili’s okay, and actually the borscht ain’t bad. Do you like meat loaf?”

“I’m a vegetarian,” Eddie said. He was glancing around the tables, looking for two people in particular. Richie and Bill. He’d just feel more at ease if he knew where they were so he could go about having his lunch pretending that he didn’t see either of them. But so far, no sightings…

“Vegetarian, huh?” Beverly pursed her lips. “Hippie parents or your own meager attempt at rebellion?”

“Uh, neither, I just don’t—”

“Like meat?” Beverly steered Eddie’s shoulders ninety degrees so that he was looking directly at Richie, sitting at a table across the room. Eddie let out a long exhale. There he was. “Now, does that go for all meat?” Beverly sang loudly. “Like you wouldn’t sink your teeth into him?”

Eddie slugged Beverly and dragged her toward the lunch line. Beverly was cracking up, but Eddie knew he was blushing badly, which would be excruciatingly obvious in this fluorescent lighting.

“Shut up, he totally heard you,” he whispered.

Part of Eddie felt glad to be joking about boys with a friend. Assuming Beverly was his friend.

He still felt unglued by what had happened this morning when he’d seen Richie. That pull toward him—he still didn’t understand where it came from, and yet here it was again. He made himself tear his eyes away from his black hair, from the smooth line of his jaw. He refused to be caught starting. He did not want to give him any reason to flip him off a second time.

“Whatever,” Beverly scoffed. “He’s so focused on that hamburger, he wouldn’t hear the call of Satan.” She gestured at Richie, who did look intensely focused on chewing his burger. Scratch that, he looked like someone pretending to be intensely focused on chewing his hamburger.

Eddie glanced across the table at Richie’s friend Mike. He was looking straight at him. When Mike caught his eye, he waggled his eyebrows in a way that Eddie couldn’t make sense of but that still creeped him out a little.

Eddie turned back to Beverly. “Why is everyone at this school so weird?”

“I’m going to choose not to take offense at that,” Beverly said, picking up a plastic tray and handing one to Eddie. “And I’m going to move on to explaining the fine art of selecting a cafeteria seat. You see, you never want to sit anywhere near the—Eddie, look out!”

All Eddie did was take one step backward, but as soon as he did, he felt the rough shove of two hands on his shoulders. Immediately, he knew he was going down. He reached out in front of him for support, but all his hands found was someone else’s full lunch tray. The whole thing tumbled down right along with him. He landed with a thud on the cafeteria floor, a full cup of borscht in his face.

When he’d wiped enough mushy beets out of his eyes to see, Eddie looked up. The angriest boy he’d ever seen was standing over him. The boy had curly golden hair and a death glare. He bared his teeth at Eddie and hissed, “If the sight of you hadn’t just ruined my appetite, I’d make you buy me another lunch.” 

Eddie stammered an apology. He tried to get up, but the boy clamped the heel of his black boot down on Eddie’s foot. Pain shot up his leg, and he had to bite his lip so he wouldn’t cry out.

“Why don’t I just take a rain check,” the boy said.

“That’s enough, Stan,” Beverly said coolly. She reached down to help Eddie to his feet.

Eddie winced. The boot was definitely going to leave a bruise.

Stan squared his hips to face Beverly, and Eddie got the feeling this was not the first time they’d locked horns.

“Fast friends with the newbie, I see,” Stan growled. “This is very bad behavior, Bev. Aren’t you supposed to be on probation?”

Eddie swallowed. Beverly hadn’t mentioned anything about probation, and it didn’t make sense that that would prohibit her from making new friends. But the word was enough to make Beverly clench her fist and throw a fat punch that landed on Stan’s right eye.

Stan reeled backward, but it was Beverly who caught Eddie’s attention. She’d begun convulsing, her arms thrown up and jerking in the air.

It was the wristband, Eddie realized with horror. It was sending some sort of shock through Beverly’s body. Unbelievable. This was cruel and unusual punishment, for sure. Eddie’s stomach churned as he watched his friend’s entire body quake. He reached out to catch Beverly just as she sank to the floor.

“Beverly,” Eddie whispered. “Are you okay?”

“Terrific.” Beverly’s eyes flickered open, then shut.

Eddie gasped. Then one of Beverly’s eyes popped back open. “Scared ya, did I? Aw, that’s sweet. Don’t worry, the shocks won’t kill me,” she whispered. “They only make me stronger. Anyway, it was worth it to give that cow a black eye, ya know?”

“All right, break it up. Break it up,” a husky voice boomed behind them.

Randy stood in the doorway, red-faced and breathing hard. It was a little too late to break anything up, Eddie thought, but then Stan was lurching toward them, his boots clicking on the linoleum. This boy was shameless. Was he really going to kick the crap out of Beverly with Randy standing right there?

Luckily, Randy’s burly arms closed around him first. Stan tried to kick his way out and started screaming.

“Somebody better start talking,” Randy barked, squeezing Stan until he went limp. “On second thought, all three of you report for detention tomorrow morning. Cemetery. Crack of dawn!” Randy looked at Stan. “Have you chilled yet?”

Stan nodded stiffly, and Randy released him. He crouched down to where Beverly still lay in Eddie’s lap, his arms crossed over his chest. At first Eddie thought Beverly was sulking, like an angry dog with a shock collar, but then Eddie felt a small jolt from Beverly’s body and realized that the girl was still at the mercy of the wrist-band.

“Come on,” Randy said, more softly. “Let’s go turn you off.”

She extended her hand to Beverly and helped heave up her tiny, shaking body, turning back only once at the doorway to repeat her orders for Eddie and Stan.

“Crack of dawn!”

“Looking forward to it,” Stan said sweetly, reaching down to pick up the plate of meat loaf that had slipped from his tray.

He dangled it over Eddie’s head for a second, then turned the plate upside down and mashed the food into his hair. Eddie could hear the squish of his own mortification as all of Sword & Cross got its viewing of the meat-loaf-coated new boy.

“Priceless,” Stan said, pulling out the tiniest silver camera from the back pocket of his black jeans. “Say… meat loaf.” He sang, snapping a few close-up shots. “These will be great on my blog.”

“Nice hat,” someone jeered from the other side of the cafeteria. Then, with trepidation, Eddie turned his eyes to Richie, praying that somehow he had missed this whole scene. But no. He was shaking his head. He looked annoyed.

Until that moment, Eddie had thought he had a chance at standing up and just shaking off the incident—literally. But seeing Richie’s reaction—well, it finally made him crack.

He would not cry in front of any of these horrible people. He swallowed hard, got to his feet, and took off. He rushed toward the nearest door, eager to feel some cool air on his face.

Instead, the September humidity cloaked him, choking him, as soon as he got outside. The sky was that no-color color, a grayish brown so oppressively bland it was difficult even to find the sun. Eddie slowed down, but got as far as the edge of the parking lot before he came to a complete stop.

He longed to see his battered old car there, to sink into the fraying cloth seat, rev the engine, crank up the stereo, and peel the hell out of this place. But as he stood on the hot black pavement, reality set in: He was stuck here, and a pair of towering metal gates separated him from the world outside Sword & Cross. Besides, even if he’d had a way out… where was he going to go?

The sick feeling in his gut told him all he needed to know. He was already at the last stop, and things were looking pretty grim.

It was as depressing as it was true: Sword & Cross was all he had.

He dropped his face into his hands, knowing he had to go back. But when he lifted his head, the residue on his palm reminded him that he was still coated in Stan’s meat loaf. Ugh. First stop, the nearest bathroom.

Back inside, Eddie ducked into the gender-neutral bathroom just as the door was swinging open. Ben, who appeared even more blonde and flawless now that Eddie looked like he’d just gone dumpster diving, squeezed past.

“Whoops, excuse me,” he said. His voice was sweet, but his face crumpled up at the sight of Eddie. “Oh God, you look terrible. What happened?”

What happened? As if the whole school didn’t already know. This boy was probably playing dumb so Eddie would relive the whole mortifying scene.

“Wait five minutes,” Eddie replied, with more of an edge in his voice than he meant. “I’m sure gossip spreads like the plague around here.”

“You want some help?” Ben asked. “You haven’t seen yourself yet, but you’re going to—”

“Thanks, but no.” Eddie cut him off, pushing into the bathroom. Without looking at himself in the mirror, he turned on the faucet. He splashed cold water on his face and finally let it all out. Tears streaming, he pumped the soap dispenser and tried to use some of the cheap powdered hand soap to scrub off the meat loaf. But there was still the matter of his hair. And his clothes had definitely looked and smelled better. Not that he needed to worry about making a good first impression anymore.

The bathroom door cracked open and Eddie scrambled against the wall like a trapped animal. When a stranger walked in, Eddie stiffened and waited for the worst.

The girl had a squat build, accentuated by an abnormal amount of layered clothing. Her wide face was surrounded by curly brown hair, and her bright purple glasses wobbled when she sniffed. She looked fairly unassuming, but then, looks could be deceiving. Both her hands were tucked behind her back in a way that, after the day Eddie had had, he just couldn’t trust.

“You know, you’re not supposed to be in here without a pass,” the girl said. Her even tone seemed to mean business.

“I know.” The look in the girl’s eyes confirmed Eddie’s suspicion that it was absolutely impossible to catch a break at this place. He started to sigh in surrender. “I just—”

“I’m kidding.” The girl laughed, rolling her eyes and relaxing her posture. “I snagged some shampoo from the locker room for you,” she said, bringing her hands around to display two innocent-looking plastic bottles of shampoo and conditioner. “Come on,” she said, pulling over a beat-up folding chair. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Sit here.”

A half-whimpering, half-laughing noise he’d never made before escape from Eddie’s lips. It sounded, he guessed, like relief. The girl was actually being nice to him—not just reform school nice, but regular-person nice! For no apparent reason. The shock of it was almost too great for Eddie to stand. “Thanks?” Eddie managed to say, still feeling a little bit guarded.

“Oh, and you probably need a change of clothes,” the girl said, looking down at her black sweater and pulling it over her head to expose an identical black sweater underneath.

When she saw the surprised look on Eddie’s face, she said, “What? I have a hostile immune system. I have to wear a lot of layers.”

“Oh, well, will you be okay without this one?” Eddie made himself ask, even though he would have done just about anything right then to get out of the meat cloak he was wearing.

“Of course,” the girl said, waving him off. “I’ve got three more on under this. And a couple more in my locker. Be my guest. It pains me to see a vegetarian covered in meat. I’m very empathetic.”

Eddie wondered how this stranger knew about his dietary preferences, but more than that, he had to ask: “Um, why are you being so nice?”

The girl laughed, sighed, then shook her head. “Not everyone at Sword & Cross is a whore or a jock.”

“Huh?” Eddie said.

“Sword & Cross… Whores and Jocks. Lame nickname in town for this school. Obviously there aren’t really any jocks here. I won’t oppress your ears with some of the cruder nicknames they’ve come up with.”

Eddie laughed.

“All I meant was, not everyone here is a complete jerk.”

“Just the majority?” Eddie asked, hating it that he already sounded so negative. But it had been such a long morning, and he’d already been through so much, and maybe this girl wouldn’t judge him for being a little bit gruff.

To his surprise, the girl smiled. “Exactly. And they sure give the rest of us a bad name.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Pennyweather Van Syckle-Lockwood. You can call me Penn.”

“Got it,” Eddie said, still too frazzled to realize that, in a former life, he might have stifled a laugh at this girl’s moniker. It sounded like she’d hopped straight off the pages of a Dickens novel. Then again, there was something trustworthy about a girl with a name like what who could mange to introduce herself with a straight face. “I’m Edward Kaspbrak.”

“And everybody calls you Eddie,” Penn said. “And you transferred from Dover Prep in New Hampshire.”

“How’d you know that?” Eddie asked slowly.

“Lucky guess?” Penn shrugged. “I’m kidding, I read your file, duh. It’s a hobby.”

Eddie stared at her blankly. Maybe he’d been too hasty with that trustworthy judgment. How could Penn have access to his file?

Penn took over running the water. When it got warm, she motioned for Eddie to lower his head into the sink.

“See, the thing is,” she explained, “I’m not actually crazy.” She pulled Eddie up by his wet head. “No offense.” Then lowered him back down. “I’m the only kid at this school without a court mandate. And you might not think it, but being legally sane has its advantages. For example, I’m also the only kid they trust to be an office aide. Which is dumb on their part. I have access to a lot of confidential shit.”

“But if you don’t have to be here—”

“When your father’s the groundskeeper of the school, they kind of have to let you go for free. So…” Penn trailed off.

Penn’s father was the groundskeeper? From the looks of the place, it hadn’t crossed Eddie’s mind that they even had a groundskeeper.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Penn said, helping Eddie shampoo the last of the gravy from his hair. “That the grounds aren’t exactly well kept?”

“No,” Eddie lied. He was eager to stay on this girl’s good side and wanted to put out the be-my-friend vibe way more than he wanted to seem like he actually cared about how often someone mowed the lawn at Sword & Cross. “It’s, um, really nice.”

“Dad died two years ago,” Penn said quietly. “They got as far as sticking me with decaying old Headmaster Udell as my legal guardian, but, uh, they never really got around to hiring a replacement for Dad.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, lowering his voice, too. So someone else here knew what it was like to go through a major loss.

“It’s okay,” Penn said, squirting conditioner into her palm. “It’s actually a really good school. I like it here a lot.”

Now Eddie’s head shot up, sending a spray of water across the bathroom. “You sure you’re not crazy?” he teased.

“I’m kidding. I hate it here. It totally sucks.”

“But you can’t bring yourself to leave,” Eddie said, tilting his head, curious.

Penn bit her lip. “I know it’s morbid, but even if I weren’t stuck with Udell, I couldn’t. My dad’s here.” She gestured toward the cemetery, invisible from here. “He’s all I’ve got.”

“Then I guess you’ve got more than some other people at this school,” Eddie said, thinking of Beverly. His mind rolled back to the way Beverly had gripped his hand on the quad today, the eager look in her green eyes when she made Eddie promise he’d swing by her dorm room tonight.

“She’s gonna be okay,” Penn said. “It wouldn’t be Monday if Beverly didn’t get carted off to the nurse after a fit.”

“But it wasn’t a fit,” Eddie said. “It was that wristband. I saw it. It was shocking her.”

“We have a very broad definition of what makes for a ‘fit’ here at Sword & Cross. Your new enemy, Stan? He’s thrown some legendary fits. They keep saying they’re going to change his meds. Hopefully you’ll have the pleasure of witnessing at least one good freak-out before they do.”

Penn’s intel was pretty remarkable. It crossed Eddie’s mind to ask her what the story was with Richie, but the complicated intensity of his interest in him was probably best kept to a need-to-know basis. At least until he figured it out himself.

He felt Penn’s hands wringing the water from his hair.

“That’s the last of it,” Penn said. “I think you’re finally meat-free.”

Eddie looked in the mirror and ran his hands through his hair. Penn was right. Except for the emotional scarring and the pain in his right foot, there was no evidence of his cafeteria brawl with Stan.

“I’m just glad you have short hair,” Penn said. “Some of the guys here have the longest hair.”

Eddie gawked at her. “I’m going to have to keep and eye on you, aren’t I?”

Penn looped her arm through Eddie’s and steered him out of the bathroom. “Just stay on my good side and no one gets hurt.”

Eddie shot Penn a worried look, but Penn’s face gave nothing away. “You’re kidding, right?” Eddie asked.

Penn smiled, suddenly cheery. “Come on, we gotta get to class. Aren’t you glad we’re in the same afternoon block?”

Eddie laughed. “When are you going to stop knowing everything about me?”

“Not in the foreseeable future,” Penn said, tugging him down the hall and back toward the cinder-block classrooms. “You’ll learn to love it soon, I promise. I’m a very powerful friend to have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys don’t hate Stan, I love him so freaking much he just knows some stuff and has some background story stuff so give him a chance.


	4. Drawing Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Richie finally talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

Eddie meandered down the dank dormitory hallway toward his room, dragging his red duffel bag with the broken strap in his wake. The walls here were the color of a dusty blackboard—and the whole place was strangely quiet, save for the dull hum of the yellow fluorescent lamps hanging from the water-stained drop-panel ceilings.

Mostly, Eddie was surprised to see so many shut doors. Back at Dover, he’d always wished for more privacy, a break from the hallwide dorm parties that sprang up at all hours. You couldn’t walk to your room without tripping over a powwow of girls sitting cross-legged in matching jeans, or a lip-locked couple pressed against the wall.

But at Sword & Cross… well, either everyone was already getting started on their thirty-page term papers… or else the socializing here was of a much more behind closed-doors variety.

Speaking of which, the closed doors themselves were a sight to be seen. If the students at Sword & Cross got resourceful with their dress code violations, they were downright ingenious when it came to personalizing their spaces. Already Eddie had walked by one door frame with a beaded curtain, and another with a motion-detecting welcome mat that encouraged him to “move the hell on” when he passed it.

He came to a stop in front of the only blank door in the building. Room 63. Home bitter home. He fumbled for his key in the front pocket of his backpack, took a deep breath, and opened the door to his cell.

Except it wasn’t terrible. Or maybe it wasn’t as terrible as he’d been expecting. There was a decent-sized window that slid open to let in some less stifling night air. And past the steel bars, the view of the moonlit commons was actually sort of interesting, if he didn’t think too hard about the graveyard that lay beyond it. He had a closet and a little sink, a desk to do his work at—come to think of it, the saddest-looking thing in the room was the glimpse Eddie caught of himself in the full-length mirror behind the door.

He quickly looked away, knowing all to well what he’d find in the reflection. His face looking pinched and tired. His caramel eyes flecked with stress. His hair like his family’s hysterical toy poodle’s fur after a rain storm. Penn’s sweater fit him like a burlap sack. He was shivering. His afternoon classes had been no better than the morning’s, due mainly to the fact that his biggest fear had come to fruition: The whole school had already started calling him Meat Loaf. And unfortunately, much like its namesake, the moniker seemed like it was going to stick.

He wanted to unpack, to turn generic room 63 into his own place, where he could go when he needed to escape and feel okay. But he only got as far as unzipping his bag before he collapsed on the bare bed in defeat. He felt so far away from home. It only took twenty-two minutes by car to get from the loose-hinged whitewashed back door of his house to the rusty wrought iron entrance gates of Sword & Cross, but it might as well have been twenty-two years.

For the first half of the silent drive with his parents this morning, the neighborhoods had all looked pretty much the same: sleepy northern middle-class suburbia. But then the road had gone over the causeway toward the shore, and the terrain had grown more and more marshy. A swell of mangrove trees marked the entrance into the wetlands, but soon even those dwindled out. The last ten miles of road to Sword & Cross were dismal. Grayish brown, featureless, forsaken. Back home in Derry, people around town always joked about the strangely memorable moldering stench out here: You knew you were in the marshes when your car started to reek of pluff mud.

Even though Eddie had grown up in Derry, he really wasn’t that familiar with the far eastern part of the town. As a kid, he’d always just assumed that was because there wasn’t any reason to come over here—all the stores, schools, and everyone his family knew were on the west side. The east side was just less developed. That was all.

He missed his parents, who’d stuck a Post-it on the T-shirt at the top of his bag—'We love you! Kaspbraks never crash!’ He missed his bedroom, which looked out on his dad’s tomato vines. He missed Callie, who most certainly had sent him at least ten never-to-be-seen text messages already. He missed Trevor…

Or, well, that wasn’t exactly it. What he missed was the way life had felt when he’d first started talking to Trevor. When he had someone to think about if he couldn’t sleep at night, someone’s name to doodle dorkily inside his notebooks. The truth was, Eddie and Trevor never really had the chance to get to know each other all that well. The only memento he had was the picture Callie had snapped covertly, from across the football field between two of his squat sets, when he and Eddie had talked for fifteen seconds about… his squat sets. And the only date he’d ever gone on with him hadn’t even been a real date—just a stolen hour when he’d pulled him away from the rest of the party. An hour he’d regret for the rest of his life.

It had started out innocently enough, just two people going for a walk down by the lake, but it wasn’t long before Eddie started to feel the shadows lurking overhead. Then Trevor’s lips touched his, and the heat coursed through his body, and his eyes turned white with terror… and seconds later, life as he’d known it had gone up in a blaze.

Eddie rolled over and buried his face in the crook of an arm. He’d spent months mourning Trevor’s death, and now, lying in this strange room, with the metal bars digging into his skin through the thin mattress, he felt the selfish futility of it all. He hadn’t known Trevor any more than he knew… well, Bill.

A knock on his door made Eddie shoot up from the bed. How would anyone know to find him here? He tiptoed to the door and pulled it open. Then he stuck his head into the very empty hallway. He hadn’t even heard footsteps outside, and there was no sign of anyone having just knocked.

Except the paper airplane pinned with a brass tack to the center of the corkboard next to his door. Eddie smiled to see his name written in black marker along the wing, but when he unfolded the note, all that was written inside was a black arrow pointing straight down the hall.

Beverly had invited him over tonight, but that was before the incident with Stan in the cafeteria. Looking down the empty hallway, Eddie wondered about following the cryptic arrow. Then he glanced back at his giant duffel bag, his pity party waiting to be unpacked. He shrugged, pulled his door shut, put his room key in his pocket, and started walking.

He stopped in front of a door on the other side of the hall to check out an oversized poster of Sonny Terry, a blind musician who he knew from his father’s scratchy record collection was an incredible blues harmonica player. He leaned forward to read the name on the corkboard and realized with a start that he was standing in front of Mike Hanlon’s room. Immediately, annoyingly, there was that little part of his brain that started calculating the odds that Mike might be hanging out with Richie, with only a thin door separating them from Eddie.

A mechanical buzzing sound made Eddie jump. He looked straight into a surveillance camera drilled into the wall over Mike’s door. The reds. Zooming in on his ever move. He shrank away, embarrassed for reasons no camera would be able to discern. Anyway, he’d come here to see Beverly—whose room, he realized just happened to be directly across the hall from Mike.

In front of Beverly’s room, Eddie felt a little stab of tenderness. The entire door was covered with bumper stickers—some printed, others obviously homemade. There were so many that they overlapped, each slogan half covering and often contradicting the one before it. Eddie laughed under his breath as he imagined Beverly collecting the bumper stickers indiscriminately (MEAN PEOPLE RULE… MY DAUGHTER IS AN F STUDENT AT SWORD & CROSS… VOTE NO ON PROP 666), then slapping them with a haphazard—but committed—focus onto her turf.

Eddie could have kept himself entertained for an hour reading Beverly’s door, but soon he started to feel self-conscious about standing in front of a dorm room he was only half certain he’d actually been invited to. Then he saw the second paper airplane. He pulled it down from the corkboard and unfolded the message:

My darling Eddie,

If you actually showed up to hang out tonight, props! We’ll get along juuust fine.

If you bailed on me, then… get your claws off my private note, MIKE! How many times do I have to tell you? Jeez.

Anyhow: I know I said to swing by tonight, but I had to dash straight from R&R in the nurse’s station (the silver lining of my Taser treatment today) to a makeup biology review with the Albatross. Which is to say—rain check?

Yours psychotically,

Bev

Eddie stood with the note in his hands, unsure about what to do next. He was relieved to read that Beverly was being taken care of, but he still wished he could see the girl in person. He wanted to hear the nonchalance in Beverly’s voice for himself, so that he’d know how to feel about what had happened in the cafeteria today. But standing there in the hallway, Eddie was ever more uncertain how to process the day’s events. A quiet panic filled him when it finally registered that he was alone, after dark, at Sword & Cross. 

Behind him, a door cracked open. A sliver of white light opened up on the floor beneath his feet. Eddie heard music being played inside a room.

“Whatcha doin’?” It was Mike, standing in his doorway in a torn white T-shirt and jeans. He held a harmonica up next to his lips.

“I came to see Beverly,” Eddie said, trying to keep himself from looking past him to see if anyone else was in the room. “We were supposed to—”

“Nobody’s home,” he said, cryptically. Eddie didn’t know if he meant Beverly, or the rest of the kids in the dorm, or what. He played a few bars on the harmonica, keeping his eyes on him the whole time. Then he held the door a little bit wider and raised his eyebrows. Eddie couldn’t tell whether or not he was inviting him to come in.

“Well, I was just swinging by on my way to the library,” he lied quickly, turning back the way he’d come. “There’s a book I need to check out.”

“Eddie,” Mike called.

He turned around. They hadn’t officially met yet, and he hadn’t expected him to know his name. His eyes flashed a smile at Eddie and he used the harmonica to point in the opposite direction. “Library’s that way,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Be sure to check out the special collections in the east wing. They’re really something.”

“Thanks,” Eddie said, feeling truly grateful as he changed course. Mike seemed so real right then, waving and playing a few parting slides on the harmonica as he left. Maybe Mike only made him nervous earlier because he thought of him as Richie’s friend. For all he knew, Mike could be a really nice person. His mood lifted as he walked down the hallway. First Beverly’s note had been snappy and sarcastic, then he’d had a non-awkward encounter with Mike Hanlon; plus he really did want to check out the library. Things were looking up.

Near the end of the hall, where the dorm elbowed off toward the library wing, Eddie passed the only cracked-open door on the floor. There was no decorative flair on this door, but someone had painted it all black. As he got closer, Eddie could hear angry heavy metal music playing inside. He didn’t even have to pause to read the name on the door. It was Stan’s.

Eddie quickened his steps, suddenly aware of every clop of his black boots on the linoleum. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he pushed through the wood-grained library doors and exhaled.

A warm feeling came over Eddie as he looked around the library. He’d always loved the faintly sweet musty way that only a roomful of books smelled. He took comfort in the soft occasional sound of turning pages. The library at Dover had always been his escape, and Eddie felt almost overwhelmed with relief as he realized that this one might offer him the same sense of sanctuary. He could hardly believe that this place belonged to Sword & Cross. It was almost… it was actually… inviting.

The walls were a deep mahogany and the ceilings were high. A fireplace with a brick hearth lay along one wall. There were long wooden tables lit by old-fashioned green lamps, and aisles of books that went on farther than he could see. The sound of his boots was hushed by thick Persian carpet as Eddie wandered past the entryway.

A few students were studying, none that Eddie knew by name, but even the more punky-looking kids seemed less threatening with their heads bent over books. He neared the main circulation desk, which was a great round station at the center of the room. It was strewn with stacks of papers and books and had a homey academic messiness that reminded Eddie of his parents’ house. They books were piled so high that Eddie almost didn’t see the librarian seated behind them. She was rooting through some paperwork with the energy of someone panning for gold. Her head popped up as Eddie approached.

“Hello!” The woman smiled—she actually smiled—at Eddie. Her hair was not gray but silver, with a kind of brilliance that sparkled even in the soft library light. Her face looked old and young at the same time. She had pale, almost incandescent skin, bright black eyes, and a tiny, pointed nose. When she spoke to Eddie, she pushed up the sleeves of her white cashmere sweater, exposing stacks and stacks of pearl bracelets decorating both of her wrists. “Can I help you find something?” she asked in a happy whisper.

Eddie felt instantly at ease with this woman, and glanced down at the nameplate on her desk. Sophia Bliss. He wished he did have a library request. This woman was the first authority figure he’d seen all day whose help he would actually have wanted to seek out. But he was just here wandering around… and then he remembered what Mike Hanlon had said.

“I’m new here,” he explained. “Edward Kaspbrak. Could you tell me where the east wing is?”

The woman gave Eddie a you-look-like-the-reading-sort smile that Eddie had been getting from librarians all his life. “Right that way,” she said, pointing toward a row of tall windows on the other side of the room. “I’m Miss Sophia, and if my roster’s correct, you’re in my religion seminar on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Oh, we’re going to have some fun!” She winked. “In the meantime, if you need anything else, I’m here. A pleasure to meet you, Eddie.”

Eddie smiled his thanks, told Miss Sophia happily that he’d see her tomorrow in class, and started toward the windows. It was only after he’d left the librarian that he wondered about the strange, intimate way the woman had called him by his nickname.

He’d just cleared the main study area and was passing through the tall, elegant book stacks when something dark and macabre passed over his head. He glanced up.

No. Not here. Please. Let me just have this one place.

When the shadows came and went, Eddie was never sure exactly where they ended up—or how long they would be gone.

He couldn’t figure out what was happening now. Something was different. He was terrified, yes, but he didn’t feel cold. In fact, he felt a little bit flushed. The library was warm, but it wasn’t that warm. And then his eyes fell on Richie.

He was facing the window, his back to Eddie, leaning over a podium that said SPECIAL COLLECTIONS in white letters. The sleeves of his worn leather jacket were pushed up around his elbows, and his black hair glowed under the lights. His shoulders were hunched over, and yet again, Eddie had an instinct to fold himself into them. He shook it from his head and stood on tiptoe to get a better look at him. From here, he couldn’t be certain, but he looked like he was drawing something.

As he watched the slight movement of his body as he sketched, Eddie’s insides felt like they were burning, like he’d swallowed something hot. He couldn’t figure out why, against all reason, he had this wild premonition that Richie was drawing him.

He shouldn’t go to him. After all, he didn’t even know him, had never actually spoken to him. Their only communication so far had included one middle finger and a couple of dirty looks. Yet for some reason, it felt very important to him that he find out what was on that sketchpad.

Then it hit him. The dream he’d had the night before. The briefest flash of it came back to him all of a sudden. In the dream, it had been late at night—damp and chilly, and he’d been dressed in pants that were long and flowing. He leaned up against a curtained window in an unfamiliar room. The only other person there was a man… or a boy—he never got to see his face. He was sketching his likeness on a thick pad of paper. His hair. His neck. The precise outline of his profile. He stood behind him, too afraid to let him know he was watching, too intrigued to turn away.

Eddie jerked forward as he felt something pinch the back of his shoulder, then float over his head. The shadow had resurfaced. It was black and as thick as a curtain.

The pounding of his heart grew so loud that it filled his ears, blocking out the dark rustle of the shadow, blocking out the sound of his footsteps. Richie glanced up from his work and seemed to raise his eyes to exactly where the shadow hovered, but he didn’t start the way Eddie had.

Of course, he couldn’t see them. His focus settled calmly outside the window.

The heat inside him grew stronger. He was close enough now that he felt like Richie must be able to feel it coming off his skin.

As quietly as he could, Eddie tried to peer over his shoulder at his sketchpad. For just a second, his mind saw the curve of his own bare neck sketched in pencil on the page. But then he blinked, and when his eyes settled back on the paper, he had to swallow hard.

It was a landscape. Richie was drawing the view of the cemetery out the window in almost perfect detail. Eddie had never seen anything that made him quite so sad.

He didn’t know why. It was crazy—even for him—to have expected his bizarre intuition to come true. There was no reason for Richie to draw him. He knew that. Just like he knew Richie had no right to flip him off this morning. But he had.

“What are you doing over here?” he asked. He’d closed his sketchbook and was looking at Eddie solemnly. His full lips were set in a straight line and his gray eyes looked dull. He didn’t look angry, for a change; he looked exhausted.

“I came to check out a book from Special Collections,” he said in a wobbly voice. But as he looked around, he quickly realized his mistake. Special Collections wasn’t a section of books—it was an open area in the library for an art display about the Civil War. He and Richie were standing in a tiny gallery of bronze busts of war heroes, glass cases filled with old promissory notes and Confederate maps. It was the only section of the library where there wasn’t a single book to check out.

“Good luck with that,” Richie said, opening up his sketchbook again, as if to say, preemptively, goodbye.

Eddie was tongue-tied and embarrassed and what he would have liked to do was escape. But then, there were the shadows, still lurking nearby, and for some reason Eddie felt better about them when he was next to Richie. It made no sense—like there was anything Richie could do to protect him from them.

He was stuck, rooted to his spot. Richie glanced up at him and sighed.

“Let me ask you, do you like being sneaked up on?”

Eddie thought about the shadows and what they were doing to him right now. Without thinking, he shook his head roughly.

“Okay, that makes two of us.” He cleared his throat and stared at him, driving home the point that he was the intruder.

Maybe Eddie could explain that he was feeling a little light-headed and just needed to sit down for a minute. He started to say, “Look, can I—”

But Richie picked up his sketchbook and got to his feet. “I came here to get away,” he said, cutting him off. “If you’re not going to leave, I will.”

He shoved his sketchbook into his backpack. When he pushed past, his shoulder brushed his. Even as brief as the touch was, even through their layers of clothing, Eddie felt a shock of static.

For a second, Richie stood still, too. They turned their heads to look back at each other, and Eddie opened his mouth. But before he could speak, Richie had turned on his heel and was walking quickly toward the door. Eddie watched as the shadows crept over his head, swirled in a circle, then rushed out the window into the night.

He shivered in the chill of their wake, and for a long time after that, stood in the special collections area, touching his shoulder where Richie had, feeling the heat cool down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y’all liked this chapter. I know it was kind of short. I will try to get a new chapter out soon.


	5. Graveyard Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie serves detention with 5 other losers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

Ahhh, Tuesday. Waffle day. For as long as Eddie could remember, summer Tuesdays meant fresh coffee, brimming bowls of raspberries and whipped cream, and an unending stack of crispy golden brown waffles. Even this summer, when his parents started acting a little scared of him, waffle day was one thing he could count on. He could roll over in bed on a Tuesday morning, and before he was aware of anything else, he knew instinctively what day it was.

Eddie sniffed, slowly coming to his senses, then sniffed again with a little more gusto. No, there was no buttermilk batter, nothing but the vinegary smell of peeling paint. He rubbed the sleep away and took in his cramped dorm room. It looked like the “before” shot on a home renovation show. The long nightmare that had been Monday came back to him: the surrender of his cell phone, the meat loaf incident and Stan’s flashing eyes in the lunchroom, Richie brushing him off in the library. What it was that made him so spiteful, Eddie didn’t have a clue.

He sat up to look out the window. It was still dark; the sun hadn’t even peeked over the horizon yet. He never woke up this early. If pressed, he didn’t actually think he could remember every having seen the sunrise. Truthfully, something about sunrise-watching as an activity had always made him nervous. It was the waiting moments, the just-before-the-sun-snapped-over-the-horizon moments, sitting in the darkness looking out across a tree line. Prime shadow time.

Eddie sighed an audibly homesick, lonely sigh, which made him even more homesick and lonely. What was he going to do with himself for three hours between the crack of dawn and his first class? Crack of dawn—why did the words ring in his ears? Oh. Crap. He was supposed to be at detention.

He scrambled out of bed, tripping over his still-packed duffle bag, and yanked another boring black sweater from the top of a stack of boring black sweaters. He tugged on yesterday’s black jeans, winced as he caught glimpse of his disastrous bed head, and tried to run his fingers through his hair as he dashed out the door.

He was out of breath when he reached the waist-high, intricately sculpted wrought iron gates of the cemetery. He was choking on the overwhelming smell of skunk cabbage and feeling far too alone with his thoughts. Where was everyone else? Was their definition of “crack of dawn” different from his? He glanced down at his watch. It was already six-fifteen.

All they’d told him was to meet at the cemetery, and Eddie was pretty sure this was the only entrance. He stood at the threshold, where the gritty asphalt of the parking lot gave way to a mangled lot full of weeds. He spotted a lone dandelion, and it crossed his mind that younger Eddie would have pounced on it and then made a wish and blown. But this Eddie’s wishes felt too heavy for something so light.

The delicate gates were all that divided the cemetery from the parking lot. Pretty remarkable for a school with so much barbed wire everywhere else. Eddie ran his hand along the gates, tracing the ornate floral pattern with his fingers. The gates must have dated back to the Civil War days Beverly was talking about, back when the cemetery was used to bury fallen soldiers. When the school attached to it was not a home for wayward psychos. When the whole place was a lot less overgrown and shadowy.

It was strange—the rest of the campus was as flat as a sheet of paper, but somehow, the cemetery had a concave, bowl-like shape. From here, he could see the slope of the whole vast thing before him. Row after row of simple headstones lined the slopes like spectators at an arena.

But toward the middle, at the lowest point of the cemetery, the path through the grounds twisted into a maze of larger carved tombs, marble statues, and mausoleums. Probably for Confederate officers, or just the soldiers who came from money. They looked like they’d be beautiful up close. But from here, the sheet weight of them seemed to drag the cemetery down, almost like the whole place was being swallowed into a drain.

Footsteps behind him. Eddie whirled around to see a stumpy, black-clad figure emerge from behind a tree. Penn! He had to resist the urge to throw his arms around the girl. Eddie had never been so glad to see anyone—though it was hard to believe Penn ever got detentions.

“Aren’t you late?” Penn asked, stopping a few feet in front of Eddie and giving him an amused you-poor-newbie shake of the head.

“I’ve been here for ten minutes,” Eddie said. “Aren’t you the one who’s late?”

Penn smirked. “No way, I’m just an early riser. I never get detention.” She shrugged and pushed her purple glasses up on her nose. “But you do, along with five other unfortunate souls, who are probably getting angrier by the minute waiting for you down at the monolith.” She stood on tiptoe and pointed behind Eddie, toward the largest stone structure, which rose up from the middle of the deepest part of the cemetery. If Eddie squinted, he could make out a group of black figures clustered around its base.

“They just said meet at the cemetery,” Eddie said, already feeling defeated. “No one told me where to go.”

“Well, I’m telling you: monolith. Now get down there,” Penn said. “You’re not going to make many friends by cutting into their morning any more than you already have.”

Eddie gulped. Part of him wanted to ask Penn to show him the way. From up here, it looked like a labyrinth, and Eddie did not want to get lost in the cemetery. Suddenly, he got that nervous, far-away-from-home feeling, and he knew it was only going to get worse in there. He cracked his knuckles, stalling.

“Eddie?” Penn said, giving his shoulders a bit of a shove. “You’re still standing here.”

Eddie tried to give Penn a brave thank-you smile, but had to settle for an awkward facial twitch. Then he hurried down the slope into the heart of the cemetery.

The sun still hadn’t risen, but it was getting closer, and these last few predawn moments were always the ones that creeped him out the most. He tore past the rows of plain headstones. At one point they must have been upright, but by now they were so old that most of them tipped over to one side or the other, giving the whole place the look of a set of morbid dominoes.

He slopped in his black Converse sneakers through puddles of mud, crunch over dead leaves. By the time he cleared the section of simple plots and made it to the more ornate tombs, the ground had more or less flattened out, and he was totally lost. He stopped running tried to catch his breath. Voices. If he calmed down, he could hear voices.

“Five more minutes, then I’m out,” a guy said.

“Too bad your opinion has no value, Mr. Hanlon.” An ornery voice, one Eddie recognized from his classes yesterday. Ms. Tross—the Albatross. After the meat loaf incident, Eddie had shown up late to her class and hadn’t exactly made the most favorable impression on the dour, spherical science teacher.

“Unless anyone wants to lose his or her social privileges this week”—groans from among the tombs—“we will all wait patiently, as if we had nothing better to do, until Mr. Kaspbrak decides to grace us with his presence.”

“I’m here,” Eddie gasped, finally rounding a giant statue of a cherub.

Ms. Tross stood with her hands on her hips, wearing a variation of yesterday’s loose black muumuu. Her thin mouse-brown hair was plaster to her scalp and her dull brown eyes showed only annoyance at Eddie’s arrival. Biology had always been tough for Eddie, and so far, he wasn’t doing his grade in Ms. Tross’ class any favors.

Behind the Albatross were Beverly, Stan, and Mike, scattered around a circle of plinths that all faced a large central statue of an angel. Compared to the rest of the statues, this one seemed newer, whiter, grander. And leaning up against the angel’s sculpted thigh—he almost hadn’t noticed—was Richie.

He was wearing the busted black leather jacket and the bright red scarf he’d fixated on yesterday. Eddie took in his messy black hair, which looked like it hadn’t yet been smoothed down after sleep… which made him think about what Richie might look like when he was sleeping… which made him blush so intensely that by the time his eyes made their way down from his hairline to his eyes, he was thoroughly humiliated.

By then Richie was glaring at him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I didn’t know where we were supposed to meet. I swear—”

“Save it,” Ms. Tross said, dragging a finger across her throat. “You’ve wasted enough of everyone’s time. Now, I’m sure you all remember whatever despicable indiscretion you committed to find yourself here. You can think about that for the next two hours while you work. Pair up. You know the drill.” She glanced at Eddie and let out her breath. “Okay, who wants a protegee?”

To Eddie’s horror, all of the other students looked at their feet. But then, after a torturous minute, a fifth student stepped into view around the corner of the mausoleum.

“I do.”

Bill. His black V-neck T-shirt fit close around his broad shoulders. He stood almost a foot shorter than Mike, who moved aside as Bill pushed past and walked toward Eddie. His eyes were glued to Eddie as he strode forward, moving smoothly and confidently, as at ease in his reform school garb as Eddie was ill at ease. Part of him wanted to avert his eyes, because it was embarrassing the was Bill was staring at him in front of everyone. But for some reason, he was mesmerized. He couldn’t break his gaze—until Beverly stepped between them.

“Dibs,” she said. “I called dibs.”

“No you didn’t,” Bill said.

“Yes I did, you just didn’t hear me from your weird perch back there.” The words rushed out of Beverly. “I want him.”

“I—” Bill started to respond.

Beverly cocked her head expectantly. Eddie swallowed. Was Bill going to come out and say he wanted him, too? Couldn’t they just forget about it? Serve detention in a group of three?

Bill patted Eddie’s arm. “I’ll catch up with you after, okay?” he said to him, like it was a promise he’d asked him to keep.

The other kids hopped off tombs they’d been sitting on and trooped toward a shed. Eddie followed, clinging to Beverly, who wordlessly handed him a rake.

“So. Do you want the avenging angel, or the fleshy embracing lovers?”

There was no mention of yesterday’s events, or of Beverly’s note, and Eddie somehow didn’t feel he should bring anything up with Beverly now. Instead, he glanced overhead to find himself flanked by two giant statues. The one closer to him looked like a Rodin. A nude man and woman stood tangled in an embrace. He’d studied French sculpture back at Dover, and always though Rodins were the most romantic pieces. But now it was hard to look at the embracing lovers without thinking of Richie. Richie. Who hated him. If he needed any further proof of that after he’d basically bolted from the library last night, all he had to do was think back to the fresh glare he’d gotten from him this morning.

“Where’s the avenging angel?” he asked Beverly with a sigh.

“Good choice. Over here.” Beverly led Eddie to a massive marble sculpture of an angel saving the ground from the strike of a thunderbolt. It might have been an interesting piece, back in the day when it was first carved. But now it just looked old and dirty, covered in mud and green moss.

“I don’t get it,” Eddie said. “What do we do?”

“Scrub-a-dub-dub,” Beverly said, almost singing. “I like to pretend I’m giving them a little bath.” With that, she scrambled up the giant angel, swinging her legs over the statue’s thunderbolt-thwarting arm, as if the whole thing were a sturdy old oak tree for her to climb.

Terrified of looking like he was asking for more trouble from Ms. Tross, Eddie started working his rake across the base of the statue. He tried to clear away what seemed like an endless pile of damp leaves.

Three minutes later, his arms were killing him. He definitely hadn’t dressed for this kind of muddy manual labor. Eddie had never been sent to detention at Dover, but from what he’d overheard, it consisted of filling a piece of paper with “I will not plagiarize off the Internet” a few hundred times.

This was brutal. Especially when all he’d really done was accidentally bump into Stan in the lunchroom. He was trying not to make snap judgements here, but clearing mud from graves of people who’d been dead over a century? Eddie totally hated his life right now.

Then a tease of sunlight finally filtered through the trees, and suddenly there was color in the graveyard. Eddie felt instantly lighter. He could see more than ten feet in front of him. He could see Richie… working side by side with Stan.

Eddie’s heart sank. The airy feeling disappeared.

He looked at Beverly, who shot him a this-blows sympathy glance but kept working.

“Hey,” Eddie whispered loudly.

Beverly put a finger to her lips but motioned for Eddie to climb up next to her.

With much less grace and agility, Eddie grabbed the statue’s arm and swung himself up onto the plinth. Once he was fairly certain that he wasn’t going to tumble to the ground, he whispered, “So… Richie’s friends with Stan?”

Beverly snorted. “No way, they totally hate each other,” she said quickly, then paused. “Why d’you ask?”

Eddie pointed at the two of them, doing no work whatsoever to clear brush from their tomb. They were standing close to each other, leaning on their rakes and having a conversation that Eddie desperately wished he could hear. “They look like friends to me.”

“It’s detention,” Beverly said flatly. “You have to pair up. Do you think Mike and Chester the Molester are friends?” She pointed at Mike and Bill. They seemed to be arguing about the best way to divvy up their work on the lovers’ statue. “Detention buddies does not equal real-life buddies.”

Beverly looked back at Eddie, who could feel his face falling, despite his best efforts to appear unfazed.

“Look, Eddie, I didn’t mean…” She trailed off. “Okay, aside from the fact that you made me waste a good twenty minutes of my morning, I have no problem with you. In fact, I think you’re sort of interesting. Kinda fresh. That said, I don’t know what you were expecting in terms of mushy-gushy friendship here at Sword & Cross. But let me be the first to tell you, it just ain’t that easy. People are here because they’ve got baggage. I’m talking curbside-check-in, pay-the-fine- ‘cause-it’s-over-fifty-pounds kind of baggage. Get it?”

Eddie shrugged, feeling embarrassed. “It was just a question.”

Beverly snickered. “Are you always so defensive? What the hell did you do to get in here, anyway?”

Eddie didn’t feel like talking about it. Maybe Beverly was right, he’d be better off not trying to make friends. He hopped down and went back to attacking the moss at the base of the statue.

Unfortunately, Beverly was intrigued. She hopped down, too, and brought her rake down on top of Eddie’s to pin it in place.

“Ooh, tell me tell me tell me,” she taunted.

Beverly’s face was so close to Eddie’s. It reminded Eddie of yesterday, crouching over Beverly after she’d convulsed. They’d had a moment, hadn’t they? And part of Eddie badly wanted to be able to talk to someone. It had been such a long, stifling summer with his parents. He sighed, resting his forehead on the handle of his rake.

A salty, nervous taste filled his mouth, but he couldn’t swallow it away. The last time he’d gone into these details, it had been because of a court order. He would just as soon have forgotten them, but the longer Beverly stared him down, the clearer the words grew, and the closer they came to the tip of his tongue.

“I was with a friend one night,” he started to explain, taking a long, deep breath. “And something terrible happened.” He closed his eyes, praying that the scene wouldn’t play out in a burst under the red-black of his eyelids. “There was a fire. I made it out… and he didn’t.”

Beverly yawned, much less horrified by the story than Eddie was.

“Anyway,” Eddie went on, “afterwards, I couldn’t remember the details, how it happened. What I could remember—what I told the judge, anyway—I guess they thought I was crazy.” He tried to smile, but it felt forced.

To Eddie’s surprise, Beverly squeezed his shoulder. And for a second, her face looked really sincere. Then it changed back into its smirk.

“We’re all so misunderstood, aren’t we?” She poked Eddie in the gut with her finger. “You know, Mike and I were just talking about how we don’t have any pyromaniac friends. And everyone knows you need a good pyro to pull off any reform school prank worth the effort.” She was scheming already. “Mike thought maybe that other new kid, Todd, but I’d rather cast my lot with you. We should all collaborate sometime.”

Eddie swallowed hard. He wasn’t a pyro. But he was done talking about his past; he didn’t even feel like defending himself.

“Ooh, wait until Mike hears,” Beverly said, throwing down her rake. “You’re like our dream come true.”

Eddie opened his mouth to protest, but Beverly had already taken off. Perfect, Eddie thought, listening to the sound of Beverly’s shoes squishing through the mud. Now it was only a matter of minutes before word traveled around the cemetery to Richie.

Alone again, he looked up at the statue. Even though he’d already cleared a huge pile of moss and mulch, the angel looked dirtier than ever. The whole project felt so pointless. He doubted anyone ever came to visit this place anyway. He also doubted that any of the other detainees were still working.

His eye just happened to fall on Richie, who was working. He was very diligently using a wire brush to scrub some mold off the bronze inscription on a tomb. He’d even pushed up the sleeves of his sweater, and Eddie could see his muscles straining as he went at it. He sighed, and—he couldn’t help it—leaned his elbows against the stone angel to watch him.

He’s always been such a hard worker.

Eddie quickly shook his head. Where had that come from? He had no idea what it meant. And yet, he’d been the one who’d thought it. It was the kind of phrase that sometimes formed in his mind just before he drifted into sleep. Senseless babble he could never assign to anything outside his dreams. But here he was, wide-awake.

He needed to get a handle on this Richie thing. He’d known him for one day, and already, he could feel himself slipping into a very strange and unfamiliar place.

“Probably best to stay away from him,” a cold voice behind him said.

Eddie whipped around to find Stan, in the same pose he’d found him in yesterday: hands on his hips, nostrils flaring.

“Who?” he asked Stan, knowing he sounded stupid.

Stan rolled his eyes. “Just trust me when I tell you that falling for Richie would be a very, very bad idea.”

Before Eddie could answer, Stan was gone. But Richie—it was almost as if he’d heard his name—was looking straight at him. Then walking straight at him.

He knew the sun had gone behind a cloud. If he could break his stare, he could look up and see it for himself. But he couldn’t look up, he couldn’t look away, and for some reason, he had to squint to see him. Almost like Richie was creating his own light, like he was blinding him. A hollow ringing noise filled up his ears, and his knees began to tremble.

He wanted to pick up his rake and pretend he didn’t see him coming. But it was too late to play it cool.

“What’d he say to you?” Richie asked.

“Um,” he hedged, racking his brain for a sensible lie. Finding nothing. He cracked his knuckles.

Richie cupped his hand over his. “I hate it when you do that.”

Eddie jerked away instinctively. His hand on his had been so fleeting, yet he felt his face flush. He meant it was a pet peeve of his, that knuckle cracking from anyone would bother him, right? Because to say that he hated it when Eddie did that implied that he’d seen him do it before. And he couldn’t have. He barely knew him.

Then why did this feel like a fight they’d had before?

“Stan told me to stay away from you,” he said finally.

Richie tilted his head from side to side, seeming to consider this. “He’s probably right.”

Eddie shivered. A shadow drifted over them, darkening the angel’s face just long enough for Eddie to worry. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, praying Richie couldn’t tell anything was strange.

But the panic was rising inside him. He wanted to run. He couldn’t run. What if he got lost in the cemetery?

Richie followed his gaze toward the sky. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“So are you going to do it?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, a dare.

“What?” he said. Run?

Richie took a step toward him. He was now less than a foot away. He held his breath. He kept his body completely still. He waited.

“Are you going to stay away from me?”

It almost sounded like he was flirting.

But Eddie was completely out of sorts. His brow was damp with sweat, and he squeezed his temples between two fingers, trying to regain possession of his body, trying to take it back from Richie’s control. He was totally unprepared to flirt back. That was, if what he was doing was actually flirting.

He took a step back. “I guess so.”

“Didn’t hear you,” he whispered, cocking an eyebrow and taking another step closer.

Eddie backed up again, farther this time. He practically slammed into the base of the statue, and could feel the gritty stone foot of the angel scraping his back. A second, darker, colder shadow whooshed over them. He could have sworn Richie shivered along with him.

And then the deep groan of something heavy startled them both. Eddie gasped as the top of the marble statue teetered over them, like a tree branch swaying in the breeze. For a second, it seemed to hover in the air.

Eddie and Richie stood staring at the angel. Both of them knew it was on its way down. The angel’s head bowed slowly toward them, like it was praying—and then the whole statue picked up speed as it started hurtling down. Eddie felt Richie’s hand wrap around his waist instantly, tightly, like he knew exactly where Eddie began and where he ended. His other hand covered Eddie’s head and forced him down just as the statue toppled over them. Right where they’d been standing. It landed with a massive crash—headfirst in the mud, with its feet still resting on the plinth, leaving a little triangle underneath, where Richie and Eddie crouched.

They were panting, nose to nose, Richie’s eyes scared. Between their bodies and the statue, there were only a few inches of space.

“Eddie?” he whispered.

All he could do was nod.

Richie’s eyes narrowed. “What did you see?”

Then a hand appeared and Eddie felt himself being pulled out of the space under the statue. There was a scraping against his back and then a waft of air. He saw the flicker of daylight again. The detention crew stood gaping, except for Ms. Tross, who was glaring, and Bill, who helped Eddie to his feet.

“Are you okay?” Bill asked, running his eyes over Eddie for scrapes and bruises and brushing some dirt from his shoulder. “I saw the statue coming down and I ran over to try and stop it, but it was already… You must have been so terrified.”

Eddie didn’t respond. Terrified was only part of how he’d felt.

Richie, already on his feet, didn’t even turn around to see whether he was okay or not. He just walked away.

Eddie’s jaw dropped as he watched him go, as he watched everyone else seem no to care that he had bailed.

“What did you do?” Ms. Tross asked.

“I don’t know. One minute, we were standing there” – Eddie glanced at Ms. Tross— “Um, working. The next thing I knew, the statue just fell over.”

The Albatross bent down to examine the shattered angel. Its head had cracked straight down the middle. She started muttering something about forces of nature and old stones.

But it was the voice at Eddie’s ear that stayed with him, even after everyone else had gone back to work. It was Stan, just inches behind his shoulder, who whispered, “Looks like someone should start listening when I give advice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter. Let me know what you guys think. And what your ideas are on what’s going to happen


	6. The Inner Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie goes to a party....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

“Don’t ever scare me like that again!” Callie reprimanded Eddie on Wednesday evening.

It was just before sundown and Eddie was folded into the Sword & Cross phone cubby, a tiny beige confine in the middle of the front office area. It was far from private, but at least no one else was loafing around. His arms were still sore from the graveyard shift at yesterday’s detention, his pride still wounded from Richie’s fleeing the second they’d been pulled out from under the statue. But for fifteen minutes, Eddie was trying hard to push all that out of his mind, to soak up every blissfully frantic word his best friend could spit out in the allotted time. It felt so good to hear Callie’s high-pitched voice, Eddie almost didn’t care that he was being yelled at.

“We promised we wouldn’t go an hour without speaking,” Callie continued accusingly. “I thought someone had eaten you alive! Or that maybe they stuck you in solidary on one of those straitjackets where you have to chew through your sleeve to scratch your face. For all I knew, you could have descended into the ninth circle of—”

“Okay, Mom,” Eddie said, laughing and settling into his role as Callie’s breathing instructor. “Relax.” For a split second, he felt guilty that he hadn’t used his one phone call to dial up his real mom. But he knew Callie would wig out if she ever discovered Eddie hadn’t seized his very first opportunity to get in touch. And in a weird way, it was always soothing to hear Callie’s hysterical voice. It was one of the many reasons the two were such a good fit: His best friend’s over-the-top paranoia actually had a calming effect on Eddie. He could just picture Callie in her dorm room at Dover, pacing her bright orange area rug, with Oxy smeared over her t-zone and pedicure foam separating her still-wet fuchsia toenails.

“Don’t Mom me!” Callie huffed. “Start talking. What are the other kids like? Are they all scary and popping diuretics like in the movies? What about your classes? How’s the food?”

Through the phone, Eddie could hear Roman Holiday playing in the background on Callie’s tiny TV. Eddie’s favorite scene had always been the one where Audrey Hepburn woke in Gregory Peck’s room, still convinced the night before had all been a dream. Eddie closed his eyes and tried to picture the shot in his mind. Mimicking Audrey’s drowsy whisper, he quoted the line he knew Callie would recognize: “There was a man, he was so mean to me. It was wonderful.”

“Okay, Mister, it’s your life I want to hear about,” Callie teased.

Unfortunately, there was nothing about Sword & Cross that Eddie would even consider describing as wonderful. Thinking about Richie for, oh, the eightieth time that day, he realized that the only parallel between his life and Roman Holiday was that he and Audrey both had a guy who was aggressively rude and uninterested in them. Eddie rested his head against the beige linoleum of the cubby walls. Someone had carved the words BIDING MY TIME. Under normal circumstances, this would be when Eddie would spill everything about Richie to Callie.

Except, for some reason, he didn’t.

Whatever he might want to say about Richie wouldn’t be based on anything that had actually happened between them. And Callie was big on guys making an effort to show they were worthy of you. She’d want to hear things like how many times he’d held open a door for Eddie, or whether he’d noticed how good his French accent was. Callie didn’t think there was anything wrong with guys writing the kind of sappy love poems Eddie could never take seriously. Eddie would come up severely short on things to say about Richie. In fact, Callie’d be much more interested in hearing about someone like Bill.

“Well, there is this guy here,” Eddie whispered into the phone.

“I knew it!” Callie squealed. “Name.”

Richie. Richie. Eddie cleared his throat. “Bill.”

“Direct, uncomplicated. I can dig it. Start from the beginning.”

“Well, nothing’s really happened yet.”

“He thinks you’re gorgeous, blah blah blah. Get to the good stuff.”

“Well—” Eddie broke off. The sound of footsteps in the lobby silenced him. He leaned out the side of the cubby and craned his neck to see who was interrupting the best fifteen minutes he’d had in three whole days.

Bill was walking toward him.

Speak of the devil. He swallowed horrifically lame words on the tip of his tongue: He gave me his guitar pick. He still had it tucked in his pocket.

Bill’s demeanor was casual, as if by some stroke of luck he hadn’t heard what Eddie’d been saying. He seemed to be the only kid at Sword & Cross who didn’t change out of his school uniform the minute classes were over. But the black-on-black look worked for him, just as much as it worked to make Eddie look like a grocery store checkout boy.

Bill was twirling a golden pocket watch that swung from a long chain looped around his index finger. Eddie followed its bright arc for a moment, almost mesmerized, until Bill clapped the face of the watch to a stop in his fist. He looked down at it, then up at him.

“Sorry.” His lips pursed in confusion. “I thought I signed up for the seven o’clock phone call.” He shrugged. “But I must have written it down wrong.”

Eddie’s heart sank when he glanced down at his one watch. He and Callie had barely said fifteen words to each other—how could his fifteen minutes already be up?

“Eddie? Hello?” Callie sounded impatient on the other end of the phone. “You’re being weird. Is there something you’re not telling me? Have you replaced me already with some reform school cutter? What about the boy?”

“Shhh,” Eddie hissed into the phone. “Bill, wait,” he called, holding the phone away from his mouth. He was already halfway out the door. “Just a second, I was” – he swallowed— “I was just getting off.”

Bill slipped the pocket watch into the front of his black blazer and doubled back toward Eddie. He raised his eyebrows and laughed when he heard Callie’s voice growing louder from the earpiece. “Don’t you dare hang up on me,” Callie protested. “You’ve told me nothing. Nothing!”

“I don’t want to piss anyone off,” Bill joked, gesturing at the barking telephone. “Take my slot, you can get me back another time.”

“No,” Eddie said quickly. As badly as he wanted to keep talking to Callie, he imagined Bill probably felt the same way about whomever he’d come here to call. And unlike a lot of the people at this school, Bill had been nothing but nice to him. He didn’t want to make him give up his turn at the telephone, especially now, when he’d be way too nervous to gossip with Callie about him.

“Callie,” he said, sighing into the phone. “I gotta go. I’ll call again as soon as—” But by then there was just the vague buzz of a dial tone in his ear. The phone itself had been rigged to cap each call at fifteen minutes. Now he saw the tiny timer blinking 0:00 on its base. They hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye and now he’d have to wait another whole week to call. Time stretched out in Eddie’s mind like and endless gulf.

“BFF?” Bill asked, leaning up against the cubby next to Eddie. His eyebrows were still arched. “I’ve got a younger brother; I can practically smell the best-friend vibe through the phone.” He bent forward as if he was going to sniff Eddie, which made him chuckle… and then freeze. Bill’s unexpected closeness had made his heart pick up.

“Let me guess.” Bill straightened back up and lifted his chin. “She wanted to know all about the reform school bad boys?”

“No!? Eddie shook his head to deny vehemently that guys were on is mind at all… until he realized Bill was only kidding. He blushed and took a stab at joking back. “I mean, I told her there’s not a single good one here.”

Bill blinked. “Precisely what makes it so exciting. Don’t you think?” he had a way of standing very still, which made Eddie stand very still, which made the ticking sound of the pocket watch inside his blazer seem louder than it possibly could have been.

Frozen next to Bill, Eddie suddenly shivered as something black swooped into the hall. The shadow seemed to hopscotch across the panels in the ceiling in a very deliberate way, blacking out one and then the next and then the next. Damn. It was never good to be alone with someone—especially someone as focused on him as Bill was at the moment—when the shadows arrived. He could feel himself twitching, trying to appear calm as the darkness swirled around the ceiling fan in a dance. That alone he could have endured. Maybe. But the shadow was also making the worst of its terrible noises, a sound like the one Eddie had heard when he’d watched a baby owl fall from its palmetto tree and choke to death. He wished Bill would just stop looking at him. He wished something would happen to divert his attention. He wished—

Richie Tozier would walk in.

And then he did. Saved by the gorgeous boy wearing holey jeans and a holier white T-shirt. He didn’t look much like salvation—slouched over his heavy stack of library books, gray bags under his gray eyes. Richie actually looked kind of wrecked. His black hair drooped over his eyes, and when they settled on Eddie and Bill, Eddie watched them narrow. He was so busy fretting over what he’d done to annoy Richie this time, he almost didn’t realize the momentous thing that happened: The second before the lobby door closed behind him, the shadow slipped through it and into the night. It was like someone had taken a vacuum and cleared out all the grit from the hall.

Richie just nodded in their direction and didn’t slow down as he passed.

When Eddie looked at Bill, he was watching Richie. He turned to Eddie and said, more loudly than he needed to, “I almost forgot to tell you. Having a little party in my room tonight after Social. I’d love for you to come.”

Richie was still within earshot. Eddie had no idea what this Social thing was, but he was supposed to meet Penn beforehand. They were supposed to walk over together.

His eyes were fixed on the back of Richie’s head, and he knew he needed to answer Bill about his party, and it really shouldn’t be so hard, but when Richie turned around and looked back at him with eyes he swore were mournful, the phone behind him started ringing, and Bill reached for it and said, “I’ve got to take this, Eddie. You’ll be there?”

Almost imperceptibly, Richie nodded.

“Yes,” Eddie told Bill. “Yes.”

***

“I still don’t see why we have to run,” Eddie was panting twenty minutes later. He was trying to keep up with Penn as they scrambled back across the commons toward the auditorium for the mysterious Wednesday Night Social, which Penn still hadn’t explained. Eddie had barely enough time to make it upstairs to his room, to slip on his better jeans just in case it was that kind of social. He was still trying to slow his breath down from his run-in with Bill and Richie when Penn barged into his room to drag him back out the door.

“People who are chronically tardy never understand the many ways in which they screw up the schedules of people who are punctual and normal,” Penn told Eddie as they splashed through a particularly soggy portion of the lawn.

“Ha!” A laugh erupted behind them.

Eddie looked back and felt his face light up when he saw Beverly’s pale, skinny frame jogging to catch up with them. “Which quack said you were normal, Penn?” Beverly nudged Eddie and pointed down. “Watch out for the quicksand!”

Eddie sloshed to a halt just before he’d have landed in a scarily muddy patch on the lawn. “Somebody please tell me where we’re going!”

“Wednesday night,” Penn said flatly. “Social Night.”

“Like… a dance or something?” Eddie asked, visions of Richie and Cam already moving across the dance floor of his mind.

Beverly hooted. “A dance with death by boredom. The term ‘social’ is typical Sword & Cross doublespeak. See, they’re required to schedule social events for us, but they are also terrified of scheduling social events for us. Sticky predicky.”

“So instead,” Penn asked, “they have these really awful events like movie nights followed by lectures about the movie, or—God, do you remember last semester?”

“There was that whole symposium on taxidermy?”

“So, so creepy.” Penn shook her head.

“Tonight, my dear,” Beverly drawled, “we get off easy. All we have to do is snore through one of the three movies on rotation in the Sword & Cross video library. Which one do you think it’ll be tonight, Pennyloafer? Starman? Joe Versus the Volcano? Or Weekend at Bernie’s?”

“It’s Starman.” Penn groaned.

Beverly shot Eddie a baffled look. “She knows everything.”

“Hold on,” Eddie said, tiptoeing around the quicksand and lowering his voice to a whisper as they approached the front office of the school. “If you’ve all seen these movies so many times, why the rush to get here?”

Penn pulled open the heavy metal doors to the “auditorium,” which, Eddie realized, was a euphemism for a regular old room with low, drop-paneled ceilings and chairs arranged to face a blank white wall.

“Don’t want to get stuck in the hot seat next to Mr. Cole,” Beverly explained, pointing at the teacher. His nose was buried deep inside a thick book, and he was surrounded by the few remaining empty chairs in the room.

As the three students stepped through the metal detector at the door, Penn said, “Whoever sits there has to help pass out his weekly ‘mental health’ surveys.”

“Which wouldn’t be so bad—” Beverly chimed in.

“—if you didn’t have to stay late to analyze the findings,” Penn finished.

“Thereby missing,” Beverly said with a grin, steering Eddie toward the second row as she whispered, “the after-party.”

Finally they’d gotten down to the heart of the matter. Eddie chuckled.

“I heard about that,” he said, feeling slightly with it for a change. “It’s in Bill’s room, right?”

Beverly looked at Eddie for a second and ran her tongue across her teeth. Then she looked past, almost though, Eddie. “Hey, Todd,” she called, waving with just the tips of her fingers. She pushed Eddie into one seat, claimed the safe spot next to him (still two seats down from Mr. Cole), and patted the hot seat. “Come sit with us, T-man!”

Todd, who’d been shifting his weight in the doorway, looked immensely relieved to be given the directive, any directive. He started toward them, swallowing. No sooner had he fumbled into the seat than Mr. Cole looked up from his book, cleaned his glasses on his handkerchief, and said, “Todd, I’m glad you’re here. I’m wondering if you can help me with a small favor after the film. You see, the Venn diagram is a very useful tool for…”

“Mean!” Penn popped her face up between Beverly and Eddie.

Beverly shrugged and produced a giant bag of popcorn from her carpetbag. “I can only look after so many new students,” she said, tossing a buttery kernel at Eddie. “Lucky you.”

As the lights in the room dimmed, Eddie looked around until his eyes landed on Bill. He thought about his abbreviated dish session on the phone with Callie, and how his friend always said that watching a movie with a guy was the best way to get to know things about him, things that might not come out in a conversation. Looking at Bill, Eddie thought he knew what Callie meant: There would be something sort of thrilling about glancing out of the corner of his eye to see what jokes Bill thought were funny, to join his laughter with his own.

When his eyes met his, Eddie felt an embarrassed instinct to look away. But then, before he could, Bill’s face lit up in a broad smile. It made him feel remarkably unabashed about being caught staring. When he put his hand up in a wave, Eddie couldn’t help thinking about how the exact opposite had happened the few times Richie had caught him looking at him.

Richie rolled in with Mike, late enough that Randy had already taken a head count, late enough that the only remaining seats were on the floor at the front of the room. He passed through the beam of light from the projector and Eddie noticed for the first time a silver chain around his neck, and some sort of medallion tucked inside his T-shirt. Then he dipped completely out of his view. He couldn’t even see his profile.

As it turned out, Starman wasn’t very funny, but the other students’ constant Jeff Bridges impersonations were. It was hard for Eddie to stay focused on the plot. Plus, he was getting that uncomfortable icy feeling at the back of his neck. Something was about to happen.

When the shadows came this time, Eddie was expecting them. Then he started to think about it and counted a tally on his fingers. The shadows had been popping up at an increasingly alarming rate, and Eddie couldn’t figure out whether he was just nervous at Sword & Cross… or whether it meant something else. They’d never been this bad before…

They oozed overhead in the auditorium, then slithered along the sides of the movie screen, and finally traced the lines of the floorboards like spilled ink. Eddie gripped the bottom of his chair and felt an ache of fear swell through his legs and arms. He tightened all the muscles in his body, but he couldn’t keep from trembling. A squeeze on his left knee made him look over at Beverly.

“You okay?” Beverly mouthed.

Eddie nodded and hugged his shoulders, pretending he was merely cold. He wished he was, but this particular chill had nothing to do with Sword & Cross’s overzealous air conditioner.

He could feel the shadows tugging at his feet under his chair. They stayed like that, deadweight for the whole movie, and every minute dragged on like an eternity.

***

An hour later, Beverly pressed her eye up against the peephole of Bill’s bronze-painted dorm room door. “Yoo-hoo,” she sang, giggling. “The festivities are here!”

She produced a hot-pink feather boa from the same magic carpetbag the bag of popcorn had come from. “Give me a boost,” she said to Eddie, dangling her foot in the air.

Eddie hooked his fingers together and positioned them under Beverly’s black boot. He watched as Beverly pushed off the ground and used the boa to cover the face of the hallway surveillance camera while she reached around the back of the device and switched it off.

“That’s not suspicious or anything,” Penn said.

“Does your allegiance lie with the after-party?” Beverly shot back. “Or the red party?”

“I’m just saying there are smarter ways.” Penn snorted as Beverly hopped down. Beverly slung the boa over Eddie’s shoulders, and Eddie laughed and started to shimmy to the Motown song they could hear through the door. But when Eddie offered the boa to Penn for a turn, he was surprised to see her still looking nervous. Penn was biting her nails and sweating at the brow. Penn wore six sweaters in swampy northern September heat—she was never hot.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie whispered, leaning in

Penn picked at the hem of her sleeve and shrugged. She looked like she was just about to answer when the door behind them opened up. A whoosh of cigarette smoke, blasting music, and suddenly Bill’s open arms greeted them.

“You made it,” he said, smiling at Eddie. Even in the dim light, his lips had a berry-stained glow. When Bill folded him in for a hug, he felt tiny and safe. It lasted only a second; then he turned to nod hello at the other two girls, and Eddie felt a little proud to have been the one who got the hug.

Behind Bill, the small, dark room was crammed with people. Mike was in one corner, at the turntable, holding up records to a black light. The couple Eddie had seen on the quad a few days before cozied up against the window. The preppy boys with the white oxford shirts were all huddled up together, occasionally checking out the girls. Beverly wasted no time shooting across the room toward Bill’s desk, which looked like it was doubling as a bar. Almost immediately, she had a champagne bottle between her legs and was laughing as she tried to pry off the cork.

Eddie was baffled. He hadn’t even known how to get booze at Dover, where the outside world had been a lot less off-limits. Bill had been back at Sword & Cross for only a few days, but already, he seemed to know how to smuggle everything he needed to throw a Dionysian soiree the entire school showed up to. And somehow everyone else inside thought this was normal. 

Still standing at the threshold, he heard the pop, then the cheers from the rest of the crowd, then Beverly’s voice calling out: “Edwarddd, get in here. I’m about to make a toast.”

Eddie could feel the party’s magnetism, but Penn looked much less ready to budge.

“You go ahead,” she said, waving a hand at Eddie.

“What’s wrong? You don’t want to go in?” the truth was, Eddie was a little nervous himself. He had no idea what might go down at these things, and since he still wasn’t sure how reliable Beverly was, it would definitely make him feel better to have Penn at his side.

But Penn frowned. “I’m… I’m out of my element. I do libraries… workshops on how to use PowerPoint. You want a file hacked into, I’m you girl. But this—” She stood on tiptoes and peered into the room. “I don’t know. People in there just think I’m some kind of know-it-all.”

Eddie attempted his best give-me-a-break frown. “And they think I’m a slab of meat loaf, and we think they’re all totally bananas.” He laughed. “Can’t we all just get along?”

Slowly Penn curled her lip, then took the feather boa and draped it around her shoulders. “Oh, all right,” she said, clomping inside ahead of Eddie.

Eddie blinked as his eyes adjusted. A cacophony filled the room, but he could hear Beverly’s laughing voice. Bill shut the door behind him and tugged Eddie’s hand so he’d hang back, away from the heart of the party.

“I’m really glad you came,” he said, putting his hand on the small of Eddie’s back and bending his head so he could hear him in the loud room. Those lips looked almost tasty, especially when they said things like “I jumped up every time someone knocked, hoping it’d be you.”

Whatever had drawn Bill to him so quickly, Eddie didn’t want to do anything to mess it up. Bill was popular and unexpectedly thoughtful, and his attention made Eddie feel more than flattered. It made him feel more comfortable in this strange new place. He knew if he tried to respond to his compliment, he’d stumble over the words. So he just laughed, which made Bill laugh, and then he pulled Eddie in for another hug.

Suddenly there was no place to put his own hands but around his neck. He felt a little-headed as Bill squeezed him, lifting his feet slightly off the ground.

When he put him back down, Eddie turned to the rest of the party, and the first thing he saw was Richie. But he didn’t think Richie liked Bill. Still, he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, his white T-shirt glowing violet in the black light. As soon as his eyes found him, it was hard to look anywhere else. Which didn’t make sense, because a gorgeous and friendly guy was standing right behind him, asking him what he’d like to drink. The other gorgeous, infinitely less friendly guy sitting across from him should not be the one he couldn’t stop looking at. And Richie was staring at him. So intently, with a cryptic, squinting look in his eyes that Eddie thought he’d never decode, even if he saw it a thousand times.

All he knew was the effect it had on him. Everyone else in the room went out of focus and he melted. He could have started back all night if it hadn’t been for Beverly, who had climbed on top of the desk and called out to Eddie, her glass raised in the air.

“To Eddie,” she toasted, giving Eddie a saintly smile. “Who was obviously zoning and missed my entire welcome speech and who will never know how utterly fabulous it was—wasn’t it fabulous, Mikey?” she leaned down to ask Mike, who patted her ankle affirmatively.

Bill slipped a plastic cup of champagne into Eddie’s hand. He blushed and tried to laugh it off as the whole rest of the party echoed, “To Eddie! To Meat Loaf!”

At his side, Stan slithered up and whispered a shorter version in his ear: “To Eddie, who will never know.”

A few days before, Eddie would have flinched away. Tonight, he simply rolled his eyes, then turned his back on Stan. The boy had never said a word that didn’t leave Eddie feeling bitten, but showing it seemed only to egg him on. So Eddie just hunkered down to share the desk chair with Penn, who handed him a rope of black licorice.

“Can you believe it? I think I’m actually having fun,” Penn said, chewing happily.

Eddie bit down on the licorice and took a tiny sip of the fizzy champagne. Not a very palatable combination. Kind of like him and Stan. “So is Stan that evil to everyone, or am I a special case?”

For a second Penn looked like she was going to give a different answer, but then she patted Eddie on the back. “Just his usual charming demeanor, my dear.”

Eddie looked around the room at all the free-flowing champagne, at Bill’s fancy vintage turntable, at the disco ball spinning over their heads, casting stars on everyone’s faces.

“Where do they get all this stuff?” he wondered aloud.

“People say Mike can smuggle anything into Sword & Cross,” Penn said matter-of-factly. “Not that I’ve ever asked him.”

Maybe this was what Beverly meant when she said Mike knew how to get things. The only off-limits item Eddie could imagine wanting badly enough to ask about was a cell phone. But then… Bill had said not to listen to Beverly about the inner workings of the school. Which would have been fine, except so much of his party seemed to be courtesy of Mike. The more he tried to untangle his questions, the less things added up. He should probably stick to being just ‘in’ enough to get invited to the parties.

“Okay, all you rejects,” Mike said loudly to get everyone’s attention. The record player had quieted down to the static between songs. “We’re going to start the open-mike portion of the night, and I’m taking requests for karaoke.”

“Richie Tozier!” Beverly hooted through her hands.

“No!” Richie hooted back without missing a beat.

“Aww, the silent Tozier sits another one out,” Mike said into the microphone. “You sure you don’t want to do your version of ‘Hellhound on My Trail’?”

“I believe that’s your song, Mike,” Richie said. A faint smile spread across his lips, but Eddie got the feeling it was an embarrassed smile, a someone-else-take-the-spotlight-please smile.

“He’s got a point, folks.” Mike laughed. “Though karaoke-ing Robert Johnson has been known to clear out a room.” He plucked an R. L. Burnside album from the stack and cued the record player in the corner. “Let’s go down south instead.”

As the bass notes of an electric guitar picked up, Mike took center stage, which was really just a few square feet of moonlit empty space in the middle of the room. Everyone else was clapping or stomping their feet in time, but Richie was looking down at his watch. He kept seeing the image of him nodding at him in the lobby earlier that night, when Bill invited him to the party. Like Richie wanted him there for some reason. Of course, now that he’d shown up, Richie made no move to acknowledge his existence.

If only he could get him alone…

Mike so monopolized the attention of the guests that only Eddie noticed when, midway through the song, Richie stood up, edged himself around Stan and Bill, and slipped silently out the door.

The was his chance. While everyone around him was applauding, Eddie slowly got to his feet.

“Encore!” Beverly called out. Then, noticing Eddie rising from his chair, she said, “Oh, snap, is that my boy stepping up to sing?”

“No!” Eddie did not want to sing in front of this roomful of people any more than he wanted to admit the real reason why he was standing up. But there he was, standing right in the middle of his first party at Sword & Cross, with Mike thrusting the mike under his chin. Now what?

“I—I just feel bad for, uh, Todd. That he’s missing out.” Eddie’s voice echoed back to him over the speakers. He was already regretting his bad lie, and the fact that there was no turning back now. “I thought I’d run down and see if he’s done with Mr. Cole.”

None of the other kids seemed to know quite what to do with this. Only Penn called out timidly, “Hurry back!”

Stan was smirking down his nose at Eddie. “Geek love,” he said, faking-swooning. “So romantic.”

Wait, did they think he liked Todd? Oh, who cared—the one person Eddie would really not want thinking that was the one person he’d been trying to follow outside.

Ignoring Stan, Eddie scooted toward the door, where Bill met him with crossed arms. “Want company?” he asked hopefully.

He shook his head. On any other errand, he probably would have wanted Bill’s company. But not right now.

“I’ll be right back,” he said brightly. Before he could register the disappointment on Bill’s face, he slinked out into the hall. After the roar of the party, the quiet rang in his ears. It took a second before he could make out hushed voices just around the corner.

Richie. He’d recognize his voice anywhere. But he was less certain who he was talking to. A boy.

“Ah’m sorrrry,” whoever he was said… with a distinctive twang.

Ben? Richie had been sneaking out to see blonde and handsome Ben?

“It won’t happen again,” Ben continued, “I swear to—”

“It can’t happen again,” Richie whispered, but his tone practically screamed lovers’ quarrel. “You promised you’d be there, and you weren’t.”

Where? When? Eddie was in agony. He inched along the hallway, trying not to make a sound.

But the two of them had fallen silent. Eddie could picture Richie taking Ben’s hands in his. Could picture him leaning in to him for a long, deep kiss. A sheet of all-consuming envy spread across Eddie’s chest. Around the corner, one of them sighed.

“You’re going to have to trust me, honey,” he heard Ben say, in a saccharine voice that made Eddie decide once and for all that he hated him. “I’m the only one you’ve got.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a new chapter, I hope y’all enjoyed it.


	7. No Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looks like Eddie’s going for a swim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

Bright and early Thursday morning, a loudspeaker crackled to life in the hallway outside Eddie’s room:

“Attention, Sword & Crosstians!”

Eddie rolled over with a groan, but as hard as he crammed the pillow around his ears, it did little to block out Randy’s bark over the PA.

“You have exactly nine minutes to report to the gymnasium for your annual fitness examination. As you know, we take a dim view of stragglers, so be prompt and be ready for bodily assessment.”

Fitness examination? Bodily assessment? At six-thirty in the morning? Eddie had already been regretting staying out so late last night… and staying up so much later lying in bed, stressing.

Right around the time he started imagining Richie and Ben kissing, Eddie had begun to feel queasy—that specific kind of queasiness that came from knowing he’d made a fool of himself. There was no going back to the party. There was only prying himself off the wall and slinking back to his dorm room to second-guess that strange feeling he got around Richie, the one he’d foolishly taken as some sort of connection. He’d woken up with the bad taste of the party’s aftermath still in his mouth. The last thing he wanted to think about now was fitness.

He swung his feet off the bed and onto the cold vinyl floor. Brushing his teeth, he tried to picture what Sword & Cross might mean by “bodily assessment.” Intimidating images of his fellow students—Stan doing dozens of mean-faced chin-ups, Ben effortlessly ascending a thirty-foot rope toward the sky—flooded his mind. His only shot at not making a fool of himself—again—was to try to put Richie and Ben out of his mind.

He crossed the south side of campus to the gymnasium. It was a large Gothic structure with flying buttresses and fieldstone turrets that made it look more like a church than a place where one would go to break a sweat. As Eddie approached the building, the layer of kudzu coating its façade rustled in the morning breeze.

“Penn,” Eddie called out, spotting his tracksuit-clad friend lacing up her sneakers on a bench. Eddie looked down at his regulation black clothes and black boots and suddenly panicked that he’d missed some memo about dress code. But then, some of the other students were loitering outside the building and none of them looked much different than he did.

Penn’s eyes were groggy. “So beat,” she moaned. “I karaoke’d way too hard last night. Thought I’d compensate by trying to at least look athletic.”

Eddie laughed as Penn fumbled with the double knot on her shoe.

“What happened to you last night, anyway?” Penn asked. “You never came back to the party.”

“Oh,” Eddie said, stalling. “I decided to—”

“Gaaahh.” Penn covered her ears. “Every sound is like a jackhammer in my brain. Tell me later?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Sure.” The double doors to the gym were thrust open. Randy stepped out in heavy rubber clogs, holding her ever-present clipboard. She waved the students forward, and one by one they filed past to be assigned their fitness station.

“Todd Hammond,” Randy called as the wobbly-kneed kid approached. Todd’s shoulders caved forward like parentheses, and Eddie could see remnants of a serious farmer’s tan on the back of his neck.

“Weights,” Randy commanded, chucking Todd inside.

“Pennyweather Van Syckle-Lockwood,” she bellowed next, causing Penn to cower and press her palms against her ears again. “Pool,” Randy instructed, reaching into a cardboard box behind her and tossing Penn a red one-piece Speedo racer-back.

“Edward Kaspbrak,” Randy continued, after consulting her list. Eddie stepped forward and was relieved when Randy said, “Also pool.” Eddie reached up to catch the swim trunks in the air. They were stretched out and thin as a piece of parchment between his fingers. At least it smelled clean. Sort of.

“Benjamin Hanscom,” Randy said next, and Eddie whipped around to see his new least-favorite person skip up in black shorts and a thin black tank top. Ben had been at this school for three days… how had he already gotten Richie?

“Hiii, Randy,” Ben said, drawing out the words with a twang that made Eddie want to pull a Penn and cover his own ears.

Anything but pool, Eddie willed. Anything but pool.

“Pool,” Randy said.

Walking next to Penn toward the locker room, Eddie tried to avoid looking back at Ben, who twirled what seemed to be the only good-looking bathing suit in the stack around his index finger. Instead, Eddie focused on the gray stone walls and the old religious paraphernalia covering them. He walked past ornately carved wooden crosses with their bas-relief depictions of the Passion. A series of faded triptychs hung at eye level, with only the orbs of the figures’ halos still aglow. Eddie leaned forward to get a better look at a large scroll written in Latin, encased in glass.

“Uplifting décor, isn’t it?” Penn asked, throwing back a couple of aspirin with a swig of water from her bag.

“What is all this stuff?” Eddie asked.

“Ancient history. The only surviving relics from when this place was still the site of Sunday Mass, back in Civil War days.”

“That explains why it looks so much like a church,” Eddie said, pausing in front of a marble reproduction of Michelangelo’s pieta.

“Like everything else in this hellhole, they did a totally half-assed job of updating it. I mean, who builds a pool in the middle of an old church?”

“You’re joking,” Eddie said.

“I wish.” Penn rolled her eyes. “Every summer, the headmaster gets it in his little mind to try and stick me with the task of redecorating this place. He won’t admit it, but all the God stuff really freaks him out,” she said. “Problem is, even if I did feel like pitching in, I’d have no idea what to do with all this junk, or even how to clear it out without offending, like, everyone and God.”

Eddie thought back to the immaculate white walls inside Dover’s gymnasium, row after row of professionally shot varsity championship pictures, each matted with the same navy card stock, each showcased in a matching golden frame. The only hallway more hallowed at Dover was its entryway, which was where all the alumni-turned-state-senators and Guggenheim fellowship winners and run-of-the-mill billionaires displayed their head shots.

“You could hang all the current alumni’s mug shots,” Ben offered from behind them.

Eddie started to laugh—it was funny… and strange, almost like Ben had just read his mind—but then he remembered the boy’s voice the night before, telling Richie he was the only one he had. Eddie quickly swallowed any notion of a connection with him.

“You’re straggling!” yelled an unknown gym coach, appearing from nowhere. She—at least Eddie though she was a she—had a frizzy wad of brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, calves like ham hocks, and yellowing “invisible” braces covering her top teeth. She hustled the kids angrily into the locker room, where each was given a padlock with a key and directed toward an empty locker with a shove. “Nobody straggles on Coach Diante’s watch.”

Eddie and Penn scrambled into their faded, baggy bathing suits. Eddie shuddered at his reflection in the mirror, then covered as mush of himself as he could with his towel.

Inside the humid natatorium, he instantly understood what Penn was talking about. The pool itself was giant, Olympic-sized, one of the few state-of-the-art features he’d encountered so far on this campus. But that wasn’t what made it remarkable, Eddie realized in awe. This pool had been set down right in the middle of what used to be a massive church.

There was a row of pretty stained-glass windows, with only a few broken panels, spanning the walls near the high, arched ceiling. There were candlelit stone niches along the wall. A diving board had been installed where the altar probably used to be. If Eddie had not been raised agnostic, but rather as a God-fearing churchgoer, like the rest of his friends in elementary school, he might have thought this place was sacrilegious.

Some of the other students were already in the water, gasping for air as they completed their laps. But it was the students who weren’t in the water who held Eddie’s attention. Stan, Mike, and Beverly were all spread out on the bleachers along the wall. They were cracking up about something. Mike was practically double over, and Beverly was wiping away tears. They were in much more attractive bathing suits than Eddie, but not one of them looked like they had any intention of making a move toward the pool.

Eddie picked at his saggy trunks. He wanted to go join Beverly—but just as he was weighing the pros (possible entrance into an elite world) and cons (Coach Diante berating him as a conscientious objector to exercise), Ben sauntered over to the group. Like he was already best friends with all of them. He took a seat right next to Beverly and immediately started laughing, too, like whatever the joke was, he already got it.

“They always have notes to sit out,” Penn explained, glaring at the popular crowd on the bleachers. “Don’t ask me how they get away with it.”

Eddie hemmed and hawed at the side of the pool, unable to tune in to Coach Diante’s instructions. Seeing Ben et al. clustered on the bleachers cool-kids-style made Eddie wish that Bill were there. He could picture him looking buff in a sleek black bathing suit, waving Eddie over to the crew with his big smile, making him feel immediately welcome, even important.

Eddie felt a gnawing need to apologize for ducking out of his party early. Which was strange—they weren’t together, so it wasn’t like Eddie was obligated to explain his comings and goings to Bill. But at the same time, he liked it when Bill paid attention to him. He liked the way Bill smelled—kind of free and open, like driving with the windows down at night. He liked the way Bill tuned in to him completely when he talked, holding still like he couldn’t see or hear anyone but him. He’d even like being lifted off his feet at the party, in plain view of Richie. He didn’t want to do anything to make Bill reconsider the way he treated him.

When the coach’s whistle blew, a very startled Eddie stood straight up, then looked down regretfully as Penn and the other students near him all jumped forward, into the pool. He looked to Coach Diante for guidance.

“You must be Edward Kaspbrak—always late and never listens?” Coach sighed. “Randy told me about you. It’s eight laps, pick your best stroke.”

Eddie nodded and stood with his toes curled over the edge. He used to love to swim. When his dad taught him how at the Derry community pool, he’d even been given an award as youngest kid ever to brave the deep end without floaties. But that was years ago. Eddie couldn’t even remember the last time he’d swum. The heated outdoor Dover pool had always sparkled, tempting him—but it was closed to anyone who wasn’t on the swim team.

Coach Diante cleared her throat. “Maybe you didn’t catch that this is a race… and you’re already losing.”

This was the most pathetic and ridiculous “race” that Eddie had ever seen, but it didn’t stop him competitive edge from coming out.

“And… you’re still losing,” Coach said, chewing on her whistle.

“Not for long,” Eddie said.

He checked out the competition. The guy to his left was sputtering water out of his mouth and doing a clumsy freestyle. On his right, a nose-plugged Penn was leisurely gliding along, her stomach resting on a pink foam kickboard. For a split second, Eddie glanced at the crowd on the bleachers. Stan and Mike were watching; Beverly and Ben were collapsed on each other in an annoying fit of giggles.

But he didn’t care what they were laughing at. Sort of. He was off.

With his arms bowed over his head, Eddie dove in, feeling his back arch as he glided into the crisp water. Few people could do it really well, his dad once explained to an eight-year-old Eddie at the pool. But once you perfected the butterfly stroke, there was no way to move faster in the water.

Letting his aggravation propel him forward, Eddie lifted his upper body out of the water. The movement came right back to him and he started to beat his arms like wings. He swam harder than he’d done anything in a long, long time. Feeling vindicated, he lapped the other swimmers once, then again.

He was nearing the end of his eighth lap when his head popped about water just long enough to hear Ben’s slow voice say, “Richie.”

Like a snuffed-out candle, Eddie’s momentum disappeared. He put his feet down and waited to see what else Ben had to say. Unfortunately, he couldn’t hear anything other than a raucous splashing and, a moment later, the whistle.

“And the winner is,” Coach Diante said with a stunned expression, “Joel Bland.” The skinny kid with braces from the next lane over hopped out of the pool and started raising the roof to celebrate his victory.

In the next lane, Penn kicked to a stop. “What happened?” she asked Eddie. “You were totally killing him.”

Eddie shrugged. Ben was what had happened, but when he looked over at the bleachers, Ben was gone, and Beverly and Stan were gone with him. Mike alone remained where the crowd had been, and he was immersed in a book.

Eddie’s adrenaline had been building while he swam, but now he’d crashed so hard, Penn had to help him out of the pool.

Eddie watched Mike hop down from the bleachers. “You were pretty good out there,” he said, tossing him a towel and the locker room key he’d lost track of. “For a little while.”

Eddie caught the key in midair and wrapped the towel around him. But before he could say something normal, like “Thanks for the towel,” or “Guess I’m just out of shape,” this weird new hotheaded side of him instead blurted out, “Are Richie and Ben together or what?”

Big mistake. Huge. He could tell from the look in Mike’s eye that his question was headed right to Richie.

“Oh, I see,” Mike said, and laughed. “Well, I couldn’t really…” Mike looked down at him and scratched his nose and gave Eddie what seemed like a sympathetic smile. Then he pointed toward the open hallway door, and when Eddie followed his finger he saw Richie’s trim, raven silhouette pass by. “Why don’t you just ask him yourself?”

***

Eddie’s hair was still dripping wet and his feet were still bare when he found himself hovering at the door to a large weight room. He’d intended to go straight into the locker room to change and dry off. He didn’t know why this Ben thing was shaking him up so much. Richie could be with whomever he wanted, right? Maybe Ben liked guys who flipped him off.

Or, more likely, that kind of thing didn’t happen to Ben.

But Eddie’s body got the better of his mind when he caught another glimpse of Richie. His back was to him and he was standing in a corner picking out a jump rope from a tangled pile. Eddie watched as he selected a thin navy rope with wooden handles, then moved to an open space in the center of the room. His golden skin was almost radiant, and every movement he made, whether he was rolling out his long neck in a stretch or bending over to scratch his sculpted knee, had Eddie completely rapt. He stood pressed against the doorway, unaware that his teeth were chattering and his towel was soaked.

When Richie brought the rope behind his ankles just before he began to jump, Eddie was slammed with a wave of déjà vu. It wasn’t exactly that he felt like he’d seen Richie jump rope before, but more that the stance he took seemed entirely familiar. He stood with his feet hip-width apart, unlocked his knees, and pressed his shoulders down as he filled his chest with air. Eddie could almost have drawn it.

It was only when Richie began twirling the rope that Eddie snapped out of that trance… and right into another. Never in his life had he seen anyone move like him. It was almost like Richie was flying. The rope whipped up and over his tall frame so quickly that it disappeared, and his feet—his graceful, narrow feet—were they even touching the ground? He was moving so swiftly, even he must not have been counting.

A loud grunt and a thud on the other side of the weight room tore Eddie’s attention away. Todd was in a heap at the base of one of those knotted climbing ropes. He felt momentarily sorry for Todd, who was looking down at his blistered hands. Before he could look back at Richie to see whether he’d even noticed, a cold black rush at the edge of his skin made Eddie shiver. The shadow swept up on him slowly at first, icy, tenebrous, its limits indiscernible. Then, suddenly rough, it crashed into his body and forced him back. The door to the weight room slammed in his face and Eddie was alone in the hallway.

“Ow!” he cried, not because he was hurt exactly, but because he had never been touched by the shadows before. He looked down at his bare arms, where it had felt almost like hands had gripped him, shoving him out of the gym.

That was impossible—he’d just been standing in a weird place; a draft must have shot through the gymnasium. Uneasily, he approached the closed door and pressed his face up against the small glass rectangle.

Richie was looking around, like he’d heard something. Eddie felt certain Richie didn’t know it was him: He wasn’t scowling.

He thought about Mike’s suggestion that he just ask Richie what was up, but quickly dismissed the notion. It was impossible to ask anything of Richie. He didn’t want to bring out that scowl on his face.

Besides, any question he might pose would be useless. He’d already heard all he needed to hear last night. He’d have to be some kind of sadist to ask Richie to admit he was with Ben. He turned back toward the locker room when he realized he couldn’t leave.

His key.

It must have slipped from his hands when he stumbled out of the room. He stood on tiptoes to look down through the small glass panel on the door. There it was, a bronze blunder on the padded blue mat. How had it gotten so far across the room, so close to where Richie was working out? Eddie sighed and pushed the door back open, thinking if he had to go in, at least he’d make it quick.

Reaching for his key, he sneaked one last look at Richie. His pace was slowing, slowing, but his feet still barely touched the ground. And then, with one final light-as-air bounce, he came to a stop and turned around to face Eddie.

For a moment, he said nothing. Eddie could feel himself blush and really wished he wasn’t wearing such a horrible bathing suit.

“Hi” was all he could think to say.

“Hi,” Richie said back, in a much calmer tone of voice. Then, gesturing at his suit, said, “Did you win?”

Eddie laughed a sad, self-effacing laugh and shook his head. “Far from it.”

Richie pursed his lips. “But you were always…”

“I was always what?”

“I mean, you look like you might be a good swimmer.” He shrugged. “That’s all.”

Eddie stepped toward him. They were standing just a foot apart. Drops of water fell from his hair and pattered like rain on the gym mats. “That’s not what you were going to say,” he insisted. “You said I was always…”

Richie busied himself coiling the jump rope around his wrist. “Yeah, I didn’t mean you you. I meant in general. They’re always supposed to let you win your first race here. Unspoken code of conduct for us old-timers.”

“But Ben didn’t win either,” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest. “And he’s new. He didn’t even get in the pool.”

“He’s not exactly new, just coming back after some time… off.” Richie shrugged, giving away nothing of his feelings for Ben. His obvious attempt to look unconcerned made Eddie even more jealous. Eddie watched him finish looping the jump rope into a coil, the way his hands moved almost as quickly as his feet. And here Eddie was so clumsy and lonely and cold and left out of everything by everyone. His lip quivered.

“Oh, Edward,” he whispered, sighing heavily.

His whole body warmed at the sound. Richie’s voice was so intimate and familiar.

He wanted Richie to say his name again, but he had turned away. He hooked the jump rope over a peg on the wall. “I should go change before class.”

Eddie rested a hand on his arm. “Wait.”

Richie wrenched away as if he had been shocked—and Eddie felt it, too, but it was the kind of shock that felt good.

“Do you ever get the feeling…” Eddie raised his eyes to Richie’s. Up close, he could see how unusual they were. They seemed gray from far away, but up close there were blue flecks in them. Eddie knew someone else with eyes like that…

“I could swear we’ve met before,” he said. “Am I crazy?”

“Crazy? Isn’t that why you’re here?” Richie said, brushing him off.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Richie’s face was blank. “And for the record”—he pointed up at a blinking device attached to the ceiling— “the reds do monitor for stalkers.”

“I’m not stalking you.” He stiffened, very aware of the distance between their bodies. “Can you honestly say you have no idea what I’m talking about?”

Richie shrugged.

“I don’t believe you,” Eddie insisted. “Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong. That I’ve never in my life seen you before this week.”

His heart raced as Richie stepped toward him, placing both hands on his shoulders. Richie’s thumbs fit perfectly along the grooves of his collarbone, and he wanted to close his eyes at the warmth of Richie’s touch—but he didn’t. He watched as Richie bowed his head so his nose was nearly touching Eddie’s. He could feel his breath on his face. He could smell a hint of sweetness on his skin.

Richie did as he asked. He looked Eddie in the eye and said, very slowly, very clearly, so that his words could not possibly be misunderstood:

“You have never in your life seen me before this week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya’ll liked this chapter. Online school is keeping me busy so I will try to update when I can.


	8. Shedding Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie has a picnic with someone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

“Now where are you going?” Bill asked, lowering his red plastic sunglasses.

He’d appeared outside the entrance of Augustine so suddenly that Eddie almost plowed right into him. Or maybe he’d been there awhile and Eddie just hadn’t noticed in his haste to get to class. Either way, his heart started beating quickly and his palms began to sweat.

“Um, class?” Eddie answered, because where did it look like he was going? His arms were full, with his two hefty calculus books and his half-completed religion assignment.

This would have been a good time to apologize for leaving so suddenly last night. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was already so late. There hadn’t been any hot water in the locker showers, so he’d had to trek all the way back to the dorm. Somehow, what had happened after the party didn’t seem important anymore. He didn’t want to draw any more attention to him leaving—especially not now, after Richie had made him feel so pathetic. He also didn’t want Bill to think he was being rude. He just wanted to steer past him and be by himself so he could move on from this morning’s string of embarrassments.

Except—the longer Bill gazed at him, the less important it felt to leave. And the less Eddie’s pride stung over Richie’s dismissal. How could one look from Bill do all that?

With his clear, tan skin and auburn hair, Bill was different from any guy he’d ever known. He exuded confidence, and not just because he knew everyone—and how to get everything—before Eddie had even figured out where his classes were. Right then, standing outside the drab, gray school building, Bill looked like an arty black-and-white photograph, his red shades Technicolored in.

“Class, eh?” Bill yawned dramatically. He was blocking the entrance, and something about the amused way his mouth was set made Eddie want to know what wild idea he had up his sleeve. There was a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, and a disposable espresso cup between his fingers. He pressed Stop on his iPod, but left the earbuds dangling around his neck. Part of Eddie wanted to know what song he’d been listening to, and where he’d gotten the black-market espresso. The playful smile visible only in Bill’s blue eyes dared him to ask.

Bill skimmed a sip off the top of his coffee. Holding up his index finger, he said, “Allow me to share my motto about Sword & Cross classes: Better never than late.”

Eddie laughed, and then Bill pushed his sunglasses back up on his nose. The lenses were so dark, Eddie couldn’t see even a hint of his eyes.

“Besides.” He smiled, flashing Eddie a white arch of teeth. “It’s just about lunchtime, and I’ve got a picnic.”

Lunchtime? Eddie hadn’t even had breakfast yet. But his stomach was growling—and the idea of being reamed by Mr. Cole for missing all but the last twenty minutes of morning classes seemed less and less appealing the longer he stood next to Bill.

He nodded at the bag Bill was holding. “Did you pack enough for two?”

Steering Eddie with a broad hand on the small of his back, Bill led him across the commons, past the library and the dismal dorm. At the metal gates to the cemetery, he stopped.

“I know this is a weird place for a picnic,” Bill explained, “but it’s the best spot I know to dip out of sight for a little while. On campus, anyway. Sometimes I just can’t breathe in there.” He gestured toward the building.

Eddie could definitely relate to that. He felt both stifled and exposed almost all the time at this place. But Bill seemed like the last person who would share that new-student syndrome. He was so… collected. After that party last night, and now the forbidden espresso in his hands, Eddie would never have guessed Bill suffocated, too. Or that he’d pick Eddie to share the feeling with.

Past his head, Eddie could see the rest of the run-down campus. From here, there wasn’t much of a difference between one side of the cemetery gates and the other.

Eddie decided to go with it. “Just promise to save me if any statues topple over.”

“No,” Bill said with a seriousness that effectively erased his joke. “That won’t happen again.”

Eddie’s eyes fell on the spot where only days earlier, he and Richie had come close to ending up in the cemetery themselves. But the marble angel that had toppled over them was gone, its pedestal bare.

“Come on,” Bill said, tugging Eddie along with him. They sidestepped overgrown patches of weeds, and Bill kept truing to help him over mounds of dirt burrowed out by who-knew-what.

At one point, Eddie nearly lost his balance and grabbed on to one of the headstones to steady himself. It was a large, polished slab with one rough, unfinished side.

“I’ve always liked that one,” Bill said, gesturing at the pinkish headstone under his fingers. Eddie crossed around to the front of the plot to read the inscription.

“’Joseph Miley,’” he read aloud. “’1821 to 1865. Bravely served in the War of Northern Aggression. Survived three bullets and five horses felled from under him before meeting his final peace.’”

Eddie cracked his knuckles. Maybe Bill only liked it because its polished pinkish stone stood out among the mostly gray ones? Or because of the intricate whorls in the crest along the top? He raised an eyebrow at Bill.

“Yeah.” Bill shrugged. “I just like how the headstone explains the way he died. It’s honest, you know? Usually, people don’t want to go there.”

Eddie looked away. He knew that all too well from the inscrutable epitaph on Trevor’s tombstone.

“Think how much more interesting this place would be if everyone’s cause of death was chiseled in.” Bill pointed to a small grave a few plots down from Joseph Miley’s. “How do you think she died?”

“Um, scarlet fever?” Eddie guessed, wandering over.

He traced the dates with his fingers. The girl buried here had been younger than Eddie when she died. Eddie didn’t really want to think too hard about how it might have happened.

Bill tilted his head, considering. “Maybe,” he said. “Either that or a mysterious barn fire while young Betsy was taking an innocent ‘nap’ with the neighbor boy.”

Eddie started to pretend to act offended, but instead Bill’s expectant face made him laugh. It had been a long time since he’d just goofed off with a guy. Sure, this scene was a bit more morbid than the typical movie theatre parking lot flirtations he was used to, but so were the students at Sword & Cross. For better or worse, Eddie was one of them now.

He followed Bill to the bottom of the bowl-like graveyard and the more ornate tombs and mausoleums. On the slope above, the headstones seemed to be looking down at them, like Eddie and Bill were performers in an amphitheater. The midday sun glowed orange through the leaves of giant live oak tree in the cemetery, and Eddie shaded his eyes with his hands. It was the hottest day they’d had all week.

“Now, this guy,” Bill said, pointing to a huge tomb framed by Corinthian columns. “Total draft dodger. He suffocated when a beam collapsed in his basement. Which just goes to show you, never hide out from a Confederate roundup.”

“Is that so?” Eddie asked. “Remind me what makes you the expert on all of this?” Even as he teased him, Eddie felt strangely privileged to be there with Bill. He kept glancing at Eddie to make sure he was smiling.

“It’s just a sixth sense.” Bill flashed him a big, innocent grin. “If you like it, there’s a seventh sense, and an eighth sense, and a ninth sense where that came from.”

“Impressive.” Eddie smiled. “I’ll settle for the sense of taste right now. I’m starving.”

“At your service.” Bill pulled a blanket from his tote bag and spread it out in a scrap of shade under the life oak tree. He unscrewed a thermos and Eddie could smell the strong espresso. He didn’t usually drink his coffee black, but he watched as Bill filled a tumbler with ice, poured the espresso over it, and added just the right amount of milk to the top. “I forgot to bring sugar,” he said.

“I don’t take sugar.” Eddie took a sip from the bone-dry iced latte, his first delicious sip of Sword & Cross-prohibited caffeine all week.

“That’s lucky,” Bill said, spreading out the rest of the picnic. Eddie’s eyes grew wide as he watched him arrange the food: a dark brown baguette, a small round of oozy cheese, a terra-cotta tub of olives, a bowl of deviled eggs, and two bright green apples. It didn’t seem possible that Bill had fit all that in his bag—or that he’d been planning on eating all this food by himself.

“Where did you get this?” Eddie asked. Pretending to focus on tearing off a hunk of bread, he asked, “And who else were you planning on picnicking with before I came along?”

“Before you came along?” Bill laughed. “I can hardly remember my bleak life before you.”

Eddie gave Bill the slightest of snide looks so he’d know that he found the remark incredibly cheesy… and just a little bit charming. Eddie leaned back on his elbows on the blanket, his legs crossed at the ankles. Bill was sitting cross-legged facing him, and when Bill reached over him for the cheese knife, his arm brushed, then rested on, the knee of his black jeans. Bill looked up at him, as if to ask, Is this okay?

When Eddie didn’t flinch, he stayed there, taking the hunk of baguette from his hand and using Eddie’s leg like a tabletop while he spread a triangle of cheese onto the bread. Eddie liked the feeling of his weight on him, and in this heat, that was saying something.

“I’ll start with the easier question first,” Bill said, finally sitting back up. “I help out in the kitchen a couple of days a week. Part of my readmittance agreement at Sword & Cross. I’m supposed to be ‘giving back.’” He rolled his eyes. “But I don’t mind it in there. I guess I like the heat. That is, if you don’t count the grease burns.” Bill held out his upturned wrists to expose dozens of tiny scars on his forearms. “Occupational hazard,” he said casually. “But I do get the run of the pantry.”

Eddie couldn’t resist running his fingers along them, the infinitesimal pale swells fading back into his tan skin. Before he could feel embarrassed by his forwardness and pull away, Bill grabbed his hand and squeezed.

Eddie stared at his finders wrapped around his. He hadn’t realized before how closely the shades of their skin matched. In a landscape of northern people, Eddie’s tan had always made him feel self-conscious. But Bill’s skin was so striking, so noticeable, almost bronze—and now he realized he might look the same to Bill. His shoulders shivered and Eddie felt a little dizzy.

“Are you cold?” Bill asked quietly.

When Eddie met his eyes, he knew Bill knew he wasn’t cold.

Bill scooted closer on the blanket and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Now I guess you’re going to want me to admit that I saw you crossing the quad through the kitchen window and packed all this up in hopes of convincing you to skip class with me?”

This was when Eddie would have fished in his drink for ice, if it hadn’t already melted in the stale September hear.

“And you had this whole scheme of a romantic picnic,” Eddie finished. “In the scenic cemetery?”

“Hey.” Bill ran a finger along Eddie’s bottom lip. “You’re the one bringing up romance.”

Eddie pulled back. Bill was right—he’d been the presumptuous one… for the second time that day. He could feel his cheeks burn as he tried not to think about Richie.

“I’m kidding,” Bill said, shaking his head at the stricken look on Eddie’s face. “As if that weren’t obvious.” He gazed up at a turkey vulture circling a great white statue shaped like a cannon. “I know it’s no Eden here,” he said, tossing Eddie an apple, “but just pretend we’re in a Smiths song. And to my credit, it’s not like there’s much to work with at this school.”

That was putting it mildly.

“The way I see it,” Bill said, leaning back on the blanket, “location is negligible.”

Eddie shot him a doubtful look. He also wished Bill hadn’t leaned away, but he was too shy to approach when Bill was reclining on his side.

“Where I grew up”—Bill paused— “things weren’t so different from the penitentiary-style living at Sword & Cross. The upshot is I’m officially immune to my surroundings.”

“No way,” Eddie shook his head. “If I handed you a plane ticket to California right now, you wouldn’t be totally thrilled to break out of here?”

“Mmm… mildly indifferent,” Bill said, popping a deviled egg into his mouth.

“I don’t believe you.” Eddie gave him a shove.

“Then you must have had a happy childhood.”

Eddie bit into the chewy green skin of the apple and licked the juice running down his fingers. He ran through a mental catalog of all the parental frowns, doctors’ visits, and school changes of his childhood, the black shadows hanging like a shroud over everything. No, he wouldn’t say he’d had a happy childhood. But if Bill couldn’t even see a way out of Sword & Cross, something more hopeful on the horizon, then maybe his had been worse.

There was a rustling at their feet and Eddie snapped into a ball when a thick green-and-yellow snake slithered past. Trying not to get too close, he rolled to his knees and peered down at it. Not just a snake, but a snake in the middle of shedding its skin. A translucent case was coming off its tail. There were snakes all over Maine, but he’d never seen one molt.

“Don’t scream,” Bill said, resting a hand on Eddie’s knee. His touch did make Eddie feel safer. “He’ll move on if we just leave him alone.”

It couldn’t happen quickly enough. Eddie wanted very badly to scream. He had always hated and feared snakes. They were just so slithery and scaly and… “Eugh.” He shivered, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the snake until it had disappeared in the long grass.

Bill smirked as he picked up the shed skin and placed it in Eddie’s hand. It still felt alive, like the dewy skin on a bulb of garlic his father had pulled fresh from his garden. But it had just come off a snake. Gross. He tossed it back on the ground and wiped his hands on his jeans.

“Come on, you didn’t think it was cute?”

“Did my trembling give it away?” Eddie was already feeling a bit embarrassed by how childish he must have looked.

“What about your faith in the power of transformation?” Bill asked, fingering the shed skin. “That’s what we’re here for, after all.”

Bill had taken off his sunglasses. His blue eyes were so confident. He was holding that inhumanly still pose again, waiting for Eddie to answer.

“I’m starting to think you’re a little bit strange,” he said finally, cracking the tiniest smile.

“Oh, and just think how much more there is to know about me,” he replied, leaning in closer. Closer than he had when the snake came. He reached out and slowly ran his fingers through Eddie’s hair. Eddie tensed up.

Bill was gorgeous and intriguing. What he couldn’t figure out was how, when he should have been a bundle of nerves—like right then—he still somehow felt comfortable. He wanted to be right where he was. He couldn’t take his eyes off Bill’s lips, which were full and pink and moving closer, making him feel even dizzier. Bill’s shoulders brushed his and he felt a strange shiver deep inside his chest. He watched as Bill parted his lips. Then he closed his eyes.

“There y’all are!” A breathless voice pulled Eddie right out of the moment.

Eddie let out an exasperated sigh and shifted his attention to Ben, who was standing before them with an oblivious grin on his face.

“I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“Why on earth would you be doing such a thing?” Bill glowered at him, scoring him a few more points with Eddie.

“Cemetery was the last place I thought of,” Ben rattled on, counting on his fingers. “I checked your dorm rooms, then under the bleachers, then—”

“What do you want, Ben?” Bill cut him off, like a sibling, like they’d know each other a long time.

Ben blinked, then bit his lip. “It was Miss Sophia,” he said finally, snapping his fingers. “That’s right. She got frantic when Eddie didn’t show up for class. Kept saying how you were such a promising student and all that.”

Eddie couldn’t read this boy. Was he for real and just following orders? Was he mocking Eddie for making a good impression on a teacher? Was it not enough for him to have Richie wrapped around his finger—he had to move in on Bill now, too?

Ben must have sensed that he was interrupting something, but he just stood there blinking his big doe eyes. “Well, come on,” he said finally, sticking out both hands to help Eddie and Bill up. “Let’s get you back to class.”

***

“Edward, you can have station three,” Miss Sophia said, looking down at a sheet of paper when Eddie, Bill, and Ben entered the library. No where have you been? No points off for tardiness. Just Miss Sophia, absently placing Eddie next to Penn in the computer lab section of the library. Like she hadn’t even noticed that Eddie had been gone.

Eddie shot Ben an accusatory look, but he just shrugged at Eddie and mouthed, “What?”

“Wherehaveyoubeen?” Penn demanded as soon as he sat down. The only person who seemed to notice he’d been gone at all.

Eddie’s eyes found Richie, who was practically burrowed into his computer at station seven. From his seat, all Eddie could see of him was the black halo of his hair, but it was enough to bring a flush to his cheeks. He sank lower in his chair, mortified all over again by their conversation in the gym.

Even after all the laughs and smiles and that one potential near kiss he’d just shared with Bill, he couldn’t shut out what he felt when he saw Richie.

And they were never going to be together.

That was the gist of what he had told Eddie in the gym. After he’d basically thrown himself at Richie.

The rejection cut him so deeply, so close to his heart, he felt certain everyone around him could take one look at him and know exactly what had happened.

Penn was tapping her pencil impatiently on Eddie’s desk. But Eddie didn’t know how to explain. His picnic with Bill had been interrupted by Ben before Eddie had even been able to really make sense of what was happening. Or about to happen. But what was weird, and what he couldn’t figure out, was why all of that felt so much less important than what had happened in the gym with Richie.

Miss Sophia stood in the middle of the computer lab, snapping her fingers in the air like a preschool teacher to get the student’s attention. Her stacks of silver bangle bracelets chimed like bells.

“If any of you have ever traced your own family tree,” she called over the din of the crowd, “then you’ll know what sorts of treasures lie buried in the roots.”

“Oh, jeez, please kill that metaphor,” Penn whispered. “Or kill me. One or the other.”

“You’ll have twenty minutes’ access to the Internet to begin researching your own family tree,” Miss Sophia said, tapping a stopwatch. “A generation is roughly twenty to twenty-five years, so aim to go back at least six generations.”

Groan.

An audible sigh erupted from station seven—Richie.

Miss Sophia turned to him. “Richard? Do you have a problem with this assignment?”

He sighed again and shrugged. “No, not at all. That’s fine. My family tree. Should be interesting.”

Miss Sophia tilted her head quizzically. “I’ll take that statement for an enthusiastic endorsement.” Addressing the class again, she said, “I trust you’ll find a line worth pursuing in a ten- to fifteen-page research paper.”

Eddie could not possibly focus on this right now. Not when there was so much else to process. He and Bill in the cemetery. Maybe it hadn’t been the standard definition of romantic, but Eddie almost preferred it that way. It was like nothing he’d ever done before. Skipping class to mosey through all those graves. Sharing that picnic, while Bill refilled his perfectly made latte. Making fun of Eddie’s fear of snakes. Well, he could have done without that whole snake development, but at least Bill had been sweet about it. Sweeter than Richie had been all week.

He hated to admit that, but it was true. Richie wasn’t interested.

Bill, on the other hand…

He studied Bill, a few stations away. He winked at Eddie before he began pecking at his keyboard. So Bill liked him. Callie wasn’t going to be able to shut up about how obviously into him Bill was.

He wanted to call Callie now, to bolt out of this library and take a rain check on the family tree assignment. Talking up another guy was the fastest—maybe the only—way to get Richie out of his head. But there was that horrible Sword & Cross phone policy, and all the other students around him, who looked so diligent. Miss Sophia’s tiny eyes panned the class for procrastinators.

Eddie sighed, defeated, and opened the search engine on his computer. He was stuck here for another twenty minutes—with not one brain cell devoted to his assignment. The last thing he wanted to do was learn about his own boring family. Instead, his listless fingers began to tap out thirteen letters entirely of their own accord:

“Richard Tozier.”

Search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y’all liked this chapter. Maybe soon we will find out why Richie is acting so weird


	9. A Dive Too Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie wants to know more about Richie and his past... some digging in personal files occur as well as a late afternoon swim with a special someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

When Eddie answered the knock on his door Saturday morning, Penn tumbled into his arms.

“You’d think it would dawn on me someday that doors open in,” she apologized, straightening her glasses. “Must remember to stop leaning on peepholes. Nice digs, by the way,” she added, looking around. She crossed to the window over Eddie’s bed. “Not a bad view, minus the bars and all.”

Eddie stood behind her, looking out at the cemetery and, in plain view, the live oak tree where he’d had the picnic with Bill. And, invisible from here but clear in his head, the place he’d been pinned under that statue with Richie. The avenging angel that had mysteriously disappeared after the accident.

Remembering Richie’s worried eyes when he whispered Eddie’s name that day, the near touch of their noses, the way he’d felt Richie’s fingertips on his neck—all of it made him feel hot.

And pathetic. He sighed and turned away from the window, realizing Penn had moved on, too.

She was picking things up off Eddie’s desk, giving each of Eddie’s possessions careful scrutiny. The Statue of Liberty paperweight his dad had brought back from a conference at NYU, the picture of his mom with a hilariously bad perm when she was around Eddie’s age, the eponymous Lucinda Williams CD Callie had given him as a going-away present before Eddie had ever heard the name Sword & Cross.

“Where are your books?” he asked Penn, wanting to detour around a trip down memory lane. “You said you were coming over to study.”

By then, Penn had begun to riffle through his wardrobe. Eddie watched as she quickly lost interest in the variations of dress code-style black T-shirts and sweaters. When Penn moved toward his dresser drawers, Eddie stepped forward to intercept.

“Okay, that’s enough, Snoop,” he said. “Isn’t there research we should be doing on family trees?”

“Speaking of snooping.” Penn’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, there is research we should be doing. But knot the kind you’re thinking.”

Eddie stared at her blankly. “Huh?”

“Look.” Penn put her hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “If you really want to know about Richie Tozier—”

“Shhh!” Eddie hissed, jumping to close his door. He stuck his head into the hall and scanned the scene. The coast looked clear—but that didn’t mean anything. People at this school had a suspicious way of appearing out of nowhere. Bill in particular. And Eddie would die if he—or anyone—found out how enamored of Richie he was. Or, at this point, anyone but Penn.

Satisfied, Eddie closed and locked the door and turned back to his friend. Penn was sitting cross-legged at the edge of Eddie’s bed. She looked amused.

Eddie locked his hands behind his back and dug his toe into the circular red rug near his door. “What makes you think I want to know anything about him?”

“Give me a break,” Penn said, laughing. “A, it’s totally obvious that you stare at Richie Tozier all the time.”

“Shhh!” Eddie said again.

“B,” Penn said, not dropping her voice, “I watched you stalk him online for an entire class the other day. Sue me—but you were being totally shameless. And C, don’t get all paranoid. You think I blab to anyone at this school besides you?”

Penn did have a point.

“I’m only saying,” she continued, “assuming hypothetically you did want to know more about a certain unnamed person, you could conceivably bark up a more fruitful tree.” Penn shrugged one shoulder. “You know, if you had help.”

“I’m listening,” Eddie said, sinking down on the bed. His Internet search the other day had only amounted to typing, then deleting, then retyping Richie’s name into the search field.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Penn said. “I didn’t bring books with me today because I’m giving you”—she widened her eyes goofily— “a guided tour of the highly off-limits underground lair of Sword & Cross office records!”

Eddie grimaced. “I don’t know. Prying into Richie’s files? I’m not sure I need another reason to feel like a crazy stalker boy.”

“Ha.” Penn snickered. “And yes, you did just say that out loud. Come on, Eddie. It’ll be fun. Besides, what else are you going to do on a perfectly sunny Saturday morning?”

It was a nice day—precisely the kind of nice that made you feel lonely if you didn’t have anything fun and outdoorsy planned. In the middle of the night, Eddie had felt a cool front brush through his open window, and when he’d awoken this morning, the heat and humidity had all but disappeared.

He used to spend these golden early-fall days tearing up the neighborhood bike path with his friends. That was before he started avoiding the woodsy trail because of the shadows none of the other boys ever saw. Before his friends sat him down one day during recess and said their parents didn’t want them inviting him over anymore, in case he had an incident.

Truth was, Eddie had been a little panicked about how he’d spend this first weekend at Sword & Cross. No classes, no terrorizing physical fitness tests, no social events on the docket. Just forty-eight endless hours of free time. An eternity. He’d had a queasy homesick feeling all morning—until Penn showed up.

“Okay.” Eddie tried not to laugh when he said, “Take me to your secret lair.”

***

Penn practically skipped as she led Eddie across the trampled grass of the commons to the main lobby near the school’s entrance. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for a partner in crime to bring down here with me.”

Eddie smiled, glad Penn was more focused on having a friend to explore with than she was on, well, this… thing Eddie had for Richie.

At the edge of the commons, they passed a few kids lazing around on the bleachers in the clear late-morning sun. It was strange to see color on campus, on these students with whom Eddie so closely identified the color black. But there was Mike in a pair of lime-green soccer shorts, dribbling a ball between his feet. And Ben in his purple button-down shirt. Jules and Phillip—the tongue-ringed couple—were drawing on the knees of each other’s faded jeans. Todd Hammond sat apart from the rest of the kids on the bleachers, reading a comic book in a camouflage T-shirt. Even Eddie’s own gray tank top and shorts felt more vibrant than anything he’d worn all week.

Coach Diante and the Albatross were on lawn duty and had set up two plastic lawn chairs and a sagging umbrella at the edge of the commons. Aside from when they ashed their cigarettes on the lawn, they could have been asleep behind their dark sunglasses. They looked utterly bored, as imprisoned by their jobs as the changes they were monitoring.

There were a lot of people out on the commons, but as he followed closely behind Penn, he was glad to see there wasn’t anyone near the main lobby at all. No one had said anything to Eddie about trespassing in restricted areas, or even which areas were restricted, but he was sure Randy would find an appropriate punishment.

“What about the reds?” Eddie asked, remembering the omnipresent cameras.

“I just stuck some dead batteries in a few of them on my way over to your room,” Penn said, in the same nonchalant tone of voice someone else might use to say “I just filled the car up with gas.”

Penn took a sweeping glance around before she led Eddie to the main building’s back entrance and down three steep steps to an olive-colored door not visible from ground level.

“Is this basement from the Civil War era, too?” Eddie asked. It looked like an entrance to the kind of place where you could stash some POWs.

Penn gave the damp air a long, dramatic sniff. “Does the malodorous rot answer your question? This here is some antebellum mildew.” She grinned at Eddie. “Most students would keel over for the chance to inhale such storied air.”

Eddie tried not to breathe through his nose as Penn produced a hardware store’s worth of keys held together on a giant lanyard. “My life would be so much easier if they got around to making a skeleton key for this place,” she said, sifting through the assortment and finally pulling forward a thin silver key.

When the key turned in the lock, Eddie felt an unexpected shiver of excitement. Penn was right—this was way better than mapping out his family tree.

They walked a short distance through a warm, damp corridor whose ceiling was only a few inches higher than their heads. The stale air smelled like something had died there, and Eddie was almost glad the room was too dark to clearly see the floor. Just when he was beginning to feel claustrophobic, Penn produced another key that opened a small but much more modern door. They ducked through, then were able to stand up on the other side.

Inside, the records office reeked of mildew, but the air felt much cooler and drier. It was pitch-black except for the pale red glow of the EXIT sign over their heads.

Eddie could make out Penn’s sturdy silhouette, her hands groping in the air. “Where’s that string?” she muttered. “There.”

With a gentle tug, Penn turned on a naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling on a linked metal chain. The room was still dim, but now Eddie could see that the cement walls were also painted olive green and lined with heavy metal shelves and filing cabinets. Dozens of cardboard filing boxes had been stuffed onto the shelves, and the aisles between the cabinets seemed to stretch out forever. Everything was coated with a thick felt of dust.

The sunshine outside suddenly felt very far away. Even though Eddie knew they were only a flight of stairs underground, it might as well have been a mile. He rubbed his bare arms. If he were a shadow, this basement was exactly where he’d be. There were no signs of them yet, but Eddie knew that was never a good enough reason to feel safe.

Penn, unfazed by the gloom of the basement, dragged a step stool from the corner. “Wow,” she said, pulling it behind her as she walked. “Something’s different. The records used to be right here… I guess they’ve been doing a little spring cleaning since the last time I meddled in here.”

“How long ago was that?” Eddie asked.

“About a week…” Penn’s voice trailed of as she disappeared into the darkness behind a tall file cabinet.

Eddie couldn’t imagine what Sword & Cross would possibly need with all these boxes. He lifted one lid and pulled out a thick file labeled REMEDIAL MEASURES. He swallowed dryly. Maybe he was better off not knowing.

“It’s alphabetical by student,” Penn called. Her voice sounded muffled and far away. “R, S, T… here we are, Tozier.”

Eddie followed the sound of rustling paperwork down a narrow aisle and soon found Penn with a box propped in her arms, struggling under its weight. Richie’s file was tucked under her chin.

“It’s so thin,” she said, lifting her chin slightly so Eddie could take it. “Normally, they’re so much more, um…” She looked up at Eddie and bit her lip. “Okay, now I sound like the crazy stalker. Let’s just see what’s inside.”

There was only a single page in Richie’s file. A black-and-white scan of what must have been his student ID picture was pasted onto the upper right-hand corner. He was looking straight at the camera, at Eddie, a faint smile on his lips. Eddie couldn’t help smiling back. He looked just the same as he had that night when—well, he couldn’t quite think of when. The image of Richie’s expression was so sharp in his mind, but he couldn’t pin down where he would have seen it.

“God, doesn’t he look exactly the same?” Penn interrupted Eddie’s thoughts. “And look at the date. This picture was taken three years ago when he first came to Sword & Cross.”

That must have been what Eddie had been thinking… that Richie looked the same then as he did now. But he felt like he’d been thinking—or been about to think—something different, only now he couldn’t remember what it was.

“’Parents: Unknown,’” Penn read, with Eddie leaning over her shoulder. “’Guardian: Los Angeles County Orphanage.’”

“Orphanage?” Eddie asked, pressing his hand to his heart.

“That’s all there is. Everything else listed here is his—”

“Criminal history,” Eddie finished, reading along. “’Loitering on public beach after hours… vandalism of a shopping cart… jaywalking.’”

Penn widened her eyes at Eddie and swallowed a laugh. “Loverboy Tozier got arrested for jaywalking? Admit it, that’s funny.”

Eddie didn’t like picturing Richie getting arrested for anything. He liked it even less that, according to Sword & Cross, his whole life added up to little more than a list of petty crimes. All these boxes of paperwork down here, and this was all there was on Richie.

“There has to be more,” he said.

Footsteps overhead. Eddie’s and Penn’s eyes shot to the ceiling.

“The main office,” Penn whispered, pulling a tissue from inside her sleeve to blow her nose. “It could be anyone. But no one’s going to come down here, trust me.”

A second later, a door deep within the room creaked open, and light from a hall illuminated a stairway. A clopping of shoes started down. Eddie felt Penn’s grip on the back of his shirt, pulling him against the wall behind a bookshelf. They waited, holding their breath and clutching Richie’s poached file in their hands. They were so, so busted.

Eddie had his eyes closed, expecting the worst, when a haunting, melodious hum filled the room. Someone was singing.

“Doooo da da da doooo,” a female voice crooned softly. Eddie craned his neck between two boxes of files and could see a thin older woman with a small flashlight strapped to her forehead like a coal miner. Miss Sophia. She was carrying two large boxes, one stacked on top of the other so the only part of her that was visible was her glowing forehead. Her airy steps made it look as if the boxes were full of feathers instead of heavy files.

Penn gripped Eddie’s hand as they watched Miss Sophia place the file boxes on an empty shelf. She took out a pen to write down something in her notebook.

“Just a couple more,” she said, then something under her breath that Eddie couldn’t hear. A second later, Miss Sophia was gliding back up the stairs, gone as quickly as she’d appeared. Her hum lingered for just a moment in her wake.

When the door clicked shut, Penn let out a huge gulp of air. “She said there were more. She’ll probably come back.”

“What do we do?” Eddie asked.

“You sneak back up the stairs,” Penn said, pointing. “Hang a left at the top and you’ll be right back at the main office. If anyone sees you, you can say you were looking for a bathroom.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll put Richie’s file away and meet you by the bleachers. Miss Sophia won’t get suspicious if she sees just me. I’m down here so much it’s like a second dorm room.”

Eddie glanced at Richie’s file with a small pang of regret. He wasn’t ready to leave yet. Right around the time he’d resigned himself to checking out Richie’s file, he’d also started thinking about Bill’s. Richie was so cryptic—and unfortunately, so was his file. Bill, on the other hand, seemed so open and easy to read that it made him curious. Eddie wondered what else he might be able to find out about him that he might not otherwise share. But one look at Penn’s face told Eddie that they were short enough on time as it was.

“If there’s more to find on Richie, we’ll find it,” Penn assured him. “We’ll keep looking.” She gave Eddie a little shove toward the door. “Now, go.”

Eddie moved quickly down the rank corridor, then pushed open the door to the stairs. The air at the base of the stairs was still humid, but he could feel it clear a little with each step he took. When he finally rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, he had to blink and rub his eyes to readjust to the bright sunlight flooding the hallway. He stumbled around the corner and through the whitewashed doors to the main lobby. There he froze.

Two black boots, crossed at the ankles, were propped up and sticking out of the phone booth, looking very Wicked Witch of the South. Eddie was hurrying toward the front door, hoping not to be spotted, when he realized that the boots were attached to a pair of dark jeans, which was attached to an unsmiling Stan. The tiny silver camera was resting in his hand. He raised his eyes to Eddie, hung up the phone at his ear, and kicked his feet to the floor.

“Why do you look so guilty, Meat Loaf?” he asked, standing up with his hands on his hips. “Let me guess. You’re still planning on ignoring my suggestion to stay away from Richie.”

This whole evil monster thing had to be an act. Stan had no way of knowing where Eddie had just been. He didn’t know anything about Eddie. He had no cause to be so nasty. Since the first day of school, Eddie had never done a thing to Stan—except try to stay away from him.

“Are you forgetting what a hellish disaster it was the last time you tried to force yourself on a guy who wasn’t interested?” Stan’s voice was as sharp as a knife. “What was his name again? Taylor? Truman?”

Trevor. How could Stan know about Trevor? This was it, his deepest, darkest secret. The one thing Eddie wanted—needed—to keep under wraps at Sword & Cross. Now, not only did Evil Incarnate know all about it, he felt no shame bringing it up, cruelly, cavalierly—in the middle of the school’s main office.

Was it possible that Penn had been lying, that Eddie wasn’t the only person she shared her office secrets with? Was there any other logical explanation? Eddie gripped his arms over his chest, feeling as sick and exposed… and inexplicably guilty as he’d felt the night of the fire.

Stan cocked his head. “Finally,” he said, sounding relieved. “Something got through to you.” He turned his back on Eddie and shoved open the front door. Then, just before he sauntered outside, he twisted his neck around and looked down his nose at Eddie. “So don’t do to dear old Richie what you did to what’s-his-name. Capiche?”

Eddie started after him, but only got a few steps out the door before he realized he would probably crack if he tried to take on Stan now. The boy was just too vicious. Then, rubbing salt in Eddie’s wound, Ben trotted down from the bleachers to meet Stan in the middle of the field. They were far enough away that Eddie couldn’t make out their expressions when they both turned back to look at him.

He balled his sweating fists together, imagining Stan spilling everything he knew about Trevor to Ben, who would immediately run off to relay the news to Richie. At the thought of this, a sick ache spread from Eddie’s fingertips, up his arms, and into his chest. Richie might have been caught jaywalking, but so what? It was nothing compared to what Eddie was in here for.

“Heads up!” a voice called out. That had always been Eddie’s least favorite thing to hear. Sporting equipment of all sorts had a funny way of careening right at him. He winced, looking up directly into the sun. He couldn’t see anything and didn’t even have time to cover his face before he felt a smack against the side of his head and heard a loud thwunk ringing in his ears. Ouch.

Mike’s soccer ball.

“Nice one!” Mike called out as the ball sailed directly back to him. Like Eddie had intended to do that. He rubbed his forehead and took a few wobbly steps.

A hand around his wrist. A spark of heat that made him gasp. He looked down to see pale fingers around his arm, then up into Richie’s deep gray eyes.

“You okay?” he asked.

When Eddie nodded, he raised an eyebrow. “If you wanted to play soccer, you could have said so,” Richie said. “I’d have been happy to explain some of the finer points of the game, like how most people use less delicate body parts to return a kick.”

Richie let go of his wrist, and Eddie thought he was reaching toward him, to stoke the stinging side of his face. For a second, Eddie hung there, holding his breath. Then his chest collapsed when Richie’s hand swept back to brush his own hair from his eyes.

That was when Eddie realized Richie was making fun of him.

And why shouldn’t he? There was probably an imprint of a soccer ball on the side of his face.

Stan and Ben were still staring—and now Richie—with their arms crossed over their chests.

“I think your boyfriend’s getting jealous,” Eddie said, gesturing at the pair.

“Which one?” Richie asked.

“I didn’t realize they were both your boyfriends.”

“Neither one is my boyfriend,” he said simply. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I meant, which one did you think was my boyfriend?”

Eddie was stunned. What about that whole whispered conversation with Ben? What about the way the boys were looking at them right now? Was Richie lying?

Richie was looking at him funny. “Maybe you hit your head harder than I thought,” he said. “Come on, let’s take a walk, get you some air.”

Eddie tried to locate the snide joke in Richie’s latest suggestion. Was he saying Eddie was an airhead who needed more air? No, that didn’t even make sense. Eddie glanced at him. How could he look so simply sincere? And just when he was getting used to the Tozier brush-off.

“Where?” Eddie asked cautiously. Because it would be too easy to feel gleeful right now about the fact that Richie didn’t have a boyfriend, about him wanting to go somewhere with Eddie. There had to be a catch.

Richie merely squinted at the boys across the field. “Someplace where we won’t be watched.”

Eddie had told Penn he’d meet her at the bleachers, but there’d be time to explain later, and of course Penn would understand. Eddie let Richie lead him past the scrutinizing gaze of the boys and the little grove of half-rotted peach trees, around the back of the old church-gym. They were coming up on a forest of gorgeously twisted live oak trees, which Eddie never would have guessed were tucked away there. Richie looked back to make sure he was keeping up. He smiled as though following Richie were no big deal, but as he picked his way among the gnarled old roots, he couldn’t help thinking about the shadows.

Now he was going into the bosky woods, the dark under the thick foliage pierced every so often by a small shaft of sunlight from above. The stench of rich, dank mud filled the air, and Eddie suddenly knew there was water nearby.

If he were the kind of person who prayed, this would be when he would pray for the shadows to stay away, just for this sliver of time he had with Richie, so he wouldn’t have to see how crazy he sometimes got. But Eddie had never prayed. Didn’t know how. Instead, he just crossed his fingers.

“The forest opens right up here,” Richie said. They’d reached a clearing, and Eddie gasped in wonder.

Something had changed while he and Richie had been walking through the forest, something more than just the mere distance from phlegm-colored Sword & Cross. Because when they came out of the trees and stood on this high red rock, it was like they were standing in the middle of a postcard, the kind that spun around a metal rack in a small-town drugstore, a dreamy image of an idyllic North that didn’t exist anymore. Every color Eddie’s eyes fell on was brilliant, brighter than it had seemed just a moment before. From the crystal blue lake just below them to the dense emerald forest surrounding it. Two seagulls banked in the clear sky overhead. When he stood on his toes, he could see the beginnings of a tawny-colored salt marsh, one he knew gave way to the white foam of the ocean somewhere on the invisible horizon.

He glanced up at Richie. He looked brilliant, too. His skin looked glowing in this light, his eyes almost like rain. The feel of them on his face was a heavy, remarkable thing.

“What do you think?” he asked. He seemed so much more relaxed now that they were away from everyone else.

“I’ve never seen anything so wonderful,” Eddie said, scanning the pristine surface of the lake, feeling the urge to dive in. About fifty feet out on the water was a large, flat, moss-covered rock. “What’s that?”

“I’ll show you,” Richie said, kicking off his shoes. Eddie tried unsuccessfully not to stare when he tugged his T-shirt over his head, exposing his muscled torso. “Come on,” Richie said, making him realize how rooted to the spot he must have looked. “You can swim in that if you want,” he added, pointing at Eddie’s gray tank top. “I’ll even let you win this time.”

Eddie laughed. “Versus what? All those times I let you win?”

Richie started to nod, then stopped himself abruptly. “No. Since you lost at the pool the other day.”

For a second, Eddie had the urge to tell him why he’d lost. Maybe they could laugh about the whole Ben-being-his-boyfriend misunderstanding. But by then, Richie’s arms were over his head and he was in the air, arcing and then falling, diving into the lake with a perfect little splash.

It was one of the most beautiful things Eddie had ever seen. Richie had a grace like none he’d ever witnessed before. Even the splash he’d made left a lovely ring in Eddie’s ears.

He wanted to be down there with Richie.

He tugged off his shoes and left them under the magnolia tree next to Richie’s, then stood at the edge of the rock. The drop was about twenty feet, the kind of high dive that had always made Eddie’s heart skip a beat. In a good way.

A second later, Richie’s head popped up above the surface. He was grinning, treading water. “Don’t make me change my mind about letting you win,” he called.

Taking a deep breath, Eddie aimed his fingers over Richie’s head and pushed off and up into a high swan dive. The fall lasted only a split second, but it was the most delicious feeling, sailing through the sunny air, down, down, down.

Splash. The water was shockingly cold at first, then ideal a second later. Eddie surfaced to catch his breath, took one look at Richie, and started in on his butterfly stroke.

He pushed himself so hard that he lost track of Richie. Eddie knew he was showing off and hopped he was watching. He drew closer and closer until he slammed his hand down on the rock—an instant before Richie.

Both of them were panting as they hauled themselves up on the flat, sun-warmed surface. Its edges were slippery because of the moss, and Eddie had a hard time finding his grip. Richie had no problem scaling the rock, though. He reached back and gave Eddie a hand, then pulled him up to where he could kick a leg over the side.

By the time he’d hoisted himself fully out of the water, Richie was lying on his back, almost dry. Only his shorts gave away any hint that he’d just been in the lake. On the other hand, Eddie’s wet clothes clung to his body, and his hair was dripping everywhere. Most guys would heave seized the opportunity to ogle a dripping-wet boy, but Richie lay back on the rock and closed his eyes, like he was giving Eddie a moment to wring himself out—either out of kindness or a lack of interest.

Kindness, he decided, knowing he was being hopelessly romantic. But Richie seemed so perceptive, he must have felt at least a little bit of what Eddie felt. Not just the attraction, the need to be near Richie when everyone else around him was telling him to stay away, but that very real sense that they knew—really knew—each other from somewhere.

Richie snapped open his eyes and smiled—the same smile as in the picture in his file. A rush of déjà vu engulfed him so completely that Eddie had to lie down himself.

“What?” Richie asked, sounding nervous.

“Nothing.”

“Eddie.”

“I can’t get it out of my head,” he said, rolling over on his side to face Richie. He didn’t feel steady enough to sit up yet. “This feeling that I know you. That I’ve known you for a while.”

The water lapped against the rock, splashing on Eddie’s toes where they dangled over the edge. It was cold and spread goose bumps up his calves. Finally, Richie spoke.

“Haven’t we been through this already?” His tone had changed, like he was trying to laugh Eddie off. He sounded like a Dover guy: self-satisfied, eternally bored, smug. “I’m flattered you feel like we have this connection, really. But you don’t have to invent some forgotten history to get a guy to pay attention to you.”

No. Richie thought he was lying about this weird feeling he couldn’t shake as a way of coming on to him? Eddie gritted his teeth, mortified.

“Why would I make this up?” he asked, squinting in the sunlight.

“You tell me,” Richie said. “No, actually, don’t. It won’t do any good.” He sighed. “Look, I should have said this earlier when I started to see the signs.”

Eddie sat up. His heart was racing. Richie saw the signs, too.

“I know I brushed you off in the gym before,” he said slowly, causing Eddie to lean forward, as if he could draw out the words more quickly. “I should have just told you the truth.”

Eddie waited.

“I got burned by a boy.” Richie swung a hand into the water, plucked out a lily pad, and crumbled it in his hands. “Someone I really loved, not too long ago. It’s nothing personal, and I don’t want to ignore you.” He looked up at Eddie and the sun filtered through a drop of water in his hair, making it gleam. “But I also don’t want you to get your hopes up. I’m just not looking to get involved with anyone, not anytime soon.”

Oh.

Eddie looked away, out at the still, midnight-blue water where only minutes ago they’d been laughing and splashing around. The lake showed no signs of that fun anymore. Neither did Richie’s face.

Well, Eddie had been burned, too. Maybe if he told him about Trevor and how horrible everything had been, Richie would open up about his past. But then again, he already knew he couldn’t stand hearing about Richie’s past with someone else. The thought of him with another boy—he pictured Ben, Stan, a montage of smiling faces, big eyes, curled hair—was enough to make Eddie feel nauseated.

Richie’s bad-breakup story should have justified everything. But it didn’t. Richie had been so strange to him from the start. Flipping him off one day, before they’d even been introduced, then protecting him from the statue in the cemetery the next. Now Richie had brough him out here to the lake—alone. He was all over the place.

Richie’s head was lowered but his eyes were staring up at Eddie. “Not a good enough answer?” he asked, almost like he knew what Eddie was thinking.

“I still feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” he said.

All of this couldn’t be explained away by one bad heartbreak, Eddie knew. He had experience in that department.

Richie’s back was to him and he was looking toward the path they’d taken to the lake. After a while, he laughed bitterly. “Of course there are things I’m not telling you. I barely know you. I’m not sure why you think I owe you anything.” Richie got to his feet.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to get back,” he said.

“Don’t go,” Eddie whispered, but Richie didn’t seem to hear.

He watched, chest heaving, as Richie dove into the water.

He came up far away and begun swimming toward shore. He glanced back at Eddie once, about midway, and gave him a definitive wave goodbye.

Then Eddie’s heart swelled as he circled his arms over his head in a perfect butterfly stroke. As empty as Eddie felt inside, he couldn’t help admiring it. So clean so effortless, it hardly looked like swimming at all.

In no time, Richie had reached the shore, making the distance between them seem much shorter than it looked to Eddie. He’d appeared so leisurely as he swam, but there was no way he could have reached the other side that quickly unless he’d really been tearing through the water. 

How urgent was it for Richie to get away from him?

Eddie watched—feeling a confusing mix of deep embarrassment and even deeper temptation—as Richie hoisted himself back up onto the shore. A shaft of sunlight bit through the trees and framed his silhouette with a glowing radiance, and Eddie had to squint at the sight before his eyes.

He wondered whether the soccer ball to his head had shaken up his vision. Or whether what he thought he was seeing was a mirage. A trick of the late-afternoon sunlight.

Eddie stood up on the rock to get a better look.

All Richie was doing was shaking the water from his wet head, but a glaze of droplets seemed to hover over him, outside him, defying gravity in a wide span across his arms.

The way the water shimmered in the sunlight, it almost looked like Richie had wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y’all liked this chapter. What do you guys think Richie is hiding? Also let me know what your thoughts are about what’s going to happen in the future


	10. State Of Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie has an interaction with Stan, passes notes with Bev, and embarrasses himself in front of Richie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

On Monday evening, Miss Sophia stood behind a podium at the head of the largest classroom in Augustine, attempting to make shadow puppets with her hands. She’d called a last-minute study session for the students in her religion class before the next day’s midterm, and since Eddie had already missed a full month of the class, he figured he had a lot to catch up on.

Which explained why he was the only one even pretending to take notes. None of the other students even noticed that the evening sun trickling in through the narrow western windows was undermining Miss Sophia’s handcrafted light-box stage. And Eddie didn’t want to call attention to the fact that he was paying attention by standing up to draw the dusty blinds.

When the sun brushed the back of Eddie’s neck, it struck him just how long he’d been sitting in this room. He’d watched the eastern sun glow like a mane around Mr. Cole’s thinning hair that morning during world history. He’d suffered the sweltering midafternoon heat during biology with the Albatross. It was nearly evening now. The sun had looped the entire campus, and Eddie had barely left this desk. His body felt as stiff as the metal chair he was sitting in, his mind as dull as the pencil he’d given up using to take notes.

What was up with these shadow puppets? Were he and the other students, like, five years old?

But then he felt guilty. Of all the faculty here, Miss Sophia was by far the nicest, even gently pulling Eddie aside the other day to discuss how far behind Eddie was in the writing of his family tree paper. Eddie had to feign astonished gratitude when Miss Sophia walked him through an hour’s worth of database instructions yet again. He felt a little ashamed, but playing dumb was far superior to admitting he’d been too busy obsessing over a certain male classmate to devote any time to his research.

Now Miss Sophia stood in her long black crepe dress, elegantly interlocking her thumbs and raising her hands in the air, preparing for her next pose. Outside the window, a cloud crossed over the sun. Eddie zoned back in on the lecture when he noticed there was suddenly an actual shadow visible on the wall behind Miss Sophia.

“As you all remember from your reading of Paradise Lost last year, when God gave his angles their own will,” Miss Sophia said, breathing into the microphone clipped to her ivory lapel and flapping her thin fingers like a perfect angel’s wings, “there was one who crossed the line.” Miss Sophia’s voice dropped dramatically, and Eddie watched as she twisted up her index fingers so the angel’s wings transformed into devil’s horns.

Behind Eddie, someone muttered, “Big deal, that’s the oldest trick in the book.”

From the moment Miss Sophia had kicked off her lecture, it seemed like at least one person in the room took issue with every word that came out of her mouth. Maybe it was because Eddie hadn’t had a religious upbringing like the rest of them, or maybe it was because he felt sorry for Miss Sophia, but he felt a growing urge to turn around and shush the hecklers.

He was cranky. Tired. Hungry. Instead of filing down to dinner with the rest of the school, the twenty students enrolled in Miss Sophia’s religion class had been informed that if they were attending the “optional”—a sad misnomer, Penn informed him—study session, their meal would be served in the classroom where the session was being held, to save time.

The meal—not dinner, not even lunch, just a generic late-afternoon fill-up—had been a strange experience for Eddie, who had a hard enough time finding anything he could eat in the meat-centric cafeteria. Randy had just wheeled in a cart of depressing sandwiches and some pitchers of lukewarm water.

The sandwiches had all been mystery cold cuts, mayo, and cheese, and Eddie had watched enviously as Penn chomped through one after another, leaving tooth-marked rings of crust as she ate. Eddie had been on the verge of de-bologna-ing a sandwich when Bill shouldered up next to him. He’d opened his fist to expose a small cluster of fresh figs. Their deep purple skins looked like jewels in his hand.

“What’s this?” Eddie had asked, sucking in a smile.

“Can’t live on bread alone, can you?” he’d said.

“Don’t eat those.” Ben had swooped in, lifting the figs out of Eddie’s fingers and tossing them in the trash. He’d interrupted yet another private conversation and replaced the empty space in Eddie’s palm with a handful of peanut M&M’s from a vending machine sack. Ben had his own rainbow-colored skittles. Eddie imagined yanking them from his hand and pitching them in the trash.

“He’s right, Eddie.” Beverly had appeared, glowering at Bill. “Who knows what he drugged these with?” 

Eddie had laughed, because of course Beverly was joking, but when no one else smiled, he shut up and slipped the M&M’s into his pocket just as Miss Sophia called for them all to take their seats.

***

What felt like hours later, they were all still trapped in the classroom and Miss Sophia had only gotten from the Dawn of Creation to the war in Heaven. They weren’t even at Adam and Eve. Eddie’s stomach rumbled in protest.

“And do we all know who the wicked angel was who battled God?” Miss Sophia asked, like she was reading a picture book to a bunch of children at the library. Eddie half expected the room to sing out a juvenile Yes, Miss Sophia.

“Anyone?” Miss Sophia asked again.

“Mike!” Beverly hooted under her breath.

“That’s right,” Miss Sophia said, head bobbing in a saintly nod. She was just left of hard of hearing. “We call him Satan now, but over the years he’s worked under many guises—Mephistopheles, or Belial, even Lucifer to some.”

Stan, who’d been sitting in front of Eddie, rocking the back of his chair against Eddie’s desk for the past hour with the express purpose of driving Eddie insane, promptly dropped a slip of paper over his shoulder onto Eddie’s desk.

Eddie… Lucifer… any relation?

His handwriting was dark and angry and frenetic. Eddie could see his high cheekbones rise up in a sneer. In a moment of hungry weakness, Eddie started furiously scribbling an answer on the back of Stan’s note. And anyway, if there was anyone in this entire school who came close to resembling Satan, it wasn’t the receiver of the note, it was the sender.

His eyes drilled into the back of Stan’s golden curls. Eddie was ready to pelt him with the folded-up piece of paper and take his chances with Stan’s temper when Miss Sophia pulled his attention to the light box.

She had both hands raised over her head, palms up and cupping the air. As she lowered them, the shadows of her fingers on the wall looked miraculously like flailing arms and legs, like someone jumping off a bridge or out of a building. The sight was so bizarre, so dark and yet so well rendered, it unnerved Eddie. He couldn’t turn away.

“For nine days and nine nights,” Miss Sophia said, “Satan and his angels fell, further and further from Heaven.”

Her words jogged something in Eddie’s memory. He looked two rows over at Richie, who met his eyes for half a second before burying his face in his notebook. But that second’s glance had been enough, and all at once it came back to Eddie: the dream he’d had the night before.

It had been a revisionist history of him and Richie at the lake. But in the dream, when Richie said goodbye and dove back into the water, Eddie had the courage to go after him. The water was warm, so comfortable that he hadn’t even felt wet, and schools of violet fish swarmed all around him. He was swimming as fast as he could, and at first he thought the fish were helping push him toward Richie and the shore. But soon the masses of fish began to darken and cloud his vision, and he couldn’t see Richie anymore. The fish became shadowy and vicious-looking, and drew closer and closer till he couldn’t see anything, and he’d felt himself sinking, slipping away, down into the silty depths of the lake. It wasn’t a question of not being able to breathe, it was a question of never being able to rise back up. It was a question of losing Richie forever.

Then, from below, Richie had appeared, his arms spread out like sails. They scattered the shadow fish and enveloped Eddie, and together the two of them soared back to the surface. They broke through the water, higher, higher, passing the rock and the magnolia tree where they’d left their shoes. A second later, they were so high Eddie couldn’t even see the ground.

“And they landed,” Miss Sophia said, resting her hands on the podium, “in the blazing pits of Hell.”

Eddie closed his eyes and exhaled. It had only been a dream. Unfortunately, this was his reality.

He sighed and rested his chin on his hands, remembering his forgotten response to Stan’s note. It was folded in his hands. It seemed stupid now and rash. Better not to answer, for Stan not to know he’d even affected Eddie.

A paper airplane came to rest on his left forearm. He looked to the far left corner of the class, where Beverly sat holding an exaggerated winking pose.

I take it you’re not daydreaming about Satan. Where’d you and RT scurry off to Saturday afternoon?

Eddie hadn’t had a chance to talk to Beverly alone all day. But how would Beverly have known that Eddie went off with Richie? While Miss Sophia busied herself with a shadow-puppet-focused representation of the nine circles of Hell, Eddie watched Beverly sail another perfectly aimed plane at his desk.

So did Stan.

He reached up just in time to snag the plane between his slick fingers, but Eddie was not going to let him win this one. He snatched the plane back from Stan’s grip, ripping its wing loudly down the middle. Eddie had exactly enough time to pocket the torn note before Miss Sophia whipped around.

“Edward and Stanley,” she said, pursing her lips and steadying her hands on the podium. “I would hope whatever you two feel the need to discuss in a disrespectful passing of notes could be said before the entire class.”

Eddie’s mind raced. If he didn’t come up with something fast, Stan would, and there was no telling how embarrassing that could be.

“S-Stan was just saying,” Eddie stammered, “that he disagrees with your view of how Hell is broken down. He has his own ideas.”

“Well, Stanley, if you have an alternate schema of the underworld, I’d certainly like to hear of it.”

“What the hell,” Stan muttered under his breath. He cleared his throat and stood up. “Well, you’ve described Lucifer’s mouth as the lowest place in the inferno, which is why all the traitors end up there. But for me,” he said, like he’d rehearsed the lines, “I think the most tortured place in Hell”—he took a long, sweeping look back at Eddie—“should be reserved not for traitors, but for cowards. The weakest, most spineless losers. Because it seems to me that traitors? At least they made a choice. But cowards? They just run around biting their fingernails, totally afraid to do anything. Which is totally worse.” He coughed out, “Edward!” and cleared his throat. “But that’s just my opinion.” He sat down.

“Thank you, Stanley,” Miss Sophia said carefully, “I’m sure we all feel very enlightened.”

Eddie didn’t. he had stopped listening in the middle of Stan’s rant, when he felt an eerie, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The shadows. He sensed them before he saw them, bubbling up like tar from the ground. A tentacle of darkness curled around his wrist, and Eddie looked down in terror. It was trying to weasel its way into his pocket. It was going for Beverly’s paper plane. He hadn’t even read it yet! He stuffed his fist deep into his pocket and used two fingers and all his will power to pinch the shadow out as hard as he could.

An amazing thing happened: The shadow recoiled, rearing back like an injured dog. It was the first time Eddie had ever been able to do that.

Across the room, he met Beverly’s eye. Beverly’s head was cocked to the side and her mouth was hanging open.

The note—she must still be waiting for Eddie to read the note.

Miss Sophia flicked off the light box. “I think my arthritis has had enough Hell for one night.” She chuckled, encouraging the brain-numbed students to chuckle with her. “If you’ll all reread the seven critical essays I’ve assigned on Paradise Lost, I think you’ll be more than prepared for tomorrow’s exam.”

As the other students rushed to pack up their bags and peel out of the room, Eddie unfolded Beverly’s note:

Tell me he didn’t give you that lame “I’ve been burned before” bit.

Ouch. He definitely needed to talk to Beverly and find out exactly what she knew about Richie. But first…

Richie was standing before him. His silver belt buckle shone at eye level. Eddie took a deep breath and looked up at his face.

Richie’s blue-flecked gray eyes looked rested. Eddie hadn’t spoken to him in two days, since Richie had left him at the lake. It was as if the time he’d spent away from Eddie had rejuvenated him.

Eddie realized he still had Beverly’s revealing note spread open on his desk. He swallowed hard and tucked it back into his pocket.

“I wanted to apologize for leaving so suddenly the other day,” Richie said, sounding oddly formal. Eddie didn’t know if he was supposed to accept his apology, but Richie didn’t give him time to respond. “I take it you made it back to dry land okay?”

Eddie tried to smile. It crossed his mind to tell Richie about the dream he’d had, but luckily he realized that would be totally weird.

“What did you think of the review session?” Richie seemed withdrawn, stiff, like they’d never spoken before. Maybe he was joking.

“It was torture,” Eddie answered. It had always annoyed Eddie when smart boys pretended they weren’t into something just because they assumed that was what a guy would want to hear. But Eddie was not pretending; it really had been torture.

“Good,” Richie said, seeming pleased.

“You hated it, too?”

“No,” he said cryptically, and Eddie now wished he’d lied to sound more interested than he actually was.

“So… you liked it,” Eddie said, wanting to say something, anything to keep Richie there next to him, talking. “What did you like about it exactly?”

“Maybe ‘like’ isn’t the right word.” After a long pause, Richie said, “It’s in my family… studying these things. I guess I can’t help feeling a connection.”

It took a moment for his words to fully register with Eddie. His mind traveled into the fusty old storage basement where he’d glimpsed Richie’s single-page file. The file that claimed that Richie Tozier had spent most of his life in a Los Angeles County Orphanage.

“I didn’t know you had any family,” he said.

“Why would you?” Richie scoffed.

“I don’t know… So, I mean, you do?”

“The question is why you presume you know anything about my family—or me—at all?”

Eddie felt his stomach plummet. He saw the Warning: Stalker Alert flash in Richie’s alarmed eyes. And Eddie knew he’d botched things with him yet again.

“Rich.” Mike came up from behind them and put his hand on Richie’s T-shirt-clad shoulder. “You want to stick around to see if there’s another yearlong lecture, or are we going to roll?”

“Yeah,” Richie said softly, giving Eddie a final sideways glance. “Let’s get out of here.”

Of course—obviously—Eddie should have bolted several minutes ago. Like, at the first instinct to divulge any details of Richie’s file. A smart, normal person would have dodged the conversation, or changed the subject to something much less freakish, or at the very least, kept his big mouth shut.

But. Eddie was proving day after day that—especially when it came to Richie—he was incapable of doing anything that fell under the category of “normal” or “smart.”

He watched as Richie walked away with Mike. Richie didn’t look back, and every step he took away from him made Eddie feel more and more freakishly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was kinda short so I will try to update soon.


	11. Where There’s Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a fire...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

“What are you waiting for?” Penn asked barely a second after Richie had left with Mike. “Let’s go.” She tugged on Eddie’s hand.

“Go where?” Eddie asked. His heart was still pounding from the conversation with Richie—and from the view of him leaving. The shape of his sculpted shoulders cut out in the hall seemed to be bigger than Richie himself.

Penn rapped lightly on the side of Eddie’s head. “Hello? The library, like I said in my note…” She took in Eddie’s blank expression. “You didn’t get either one of my notes?” She slapped her leg, frustrated. “But I handed them to Todd to pass to Bill to pass to you.”

“Pony Express.” Bill wedged his way in front of Penn and presented Eddie with two folded scraps of paper held between his index and middle finger.

“Give me a break. Did your horse die of exhaustion on the road?” Penn huffed, snagging the notes. “I gave you those like an hour ago. What took so long? You didn’t read them—”

“Of course not.” Bill pressed a hand to his broad chest, offended. He wore a thick black ring on his middle finger. “If you remember, Eddie got in trouble for passing notes with Stan—”

“I was not passing notes with Stan—”

“Regardless,” Bill said, lifting the notes back out of Penn’s hand and delivering them, finally, to Eddie. “I was only looking out for your best interests. Waiting for the right opportunity.”

“Well, thank you.” Eddie tucked the notes into his pocket and gave Penn a what-are-ya-gonna-do shrug.

“Speaking of waiting for the right time,” Bill said, “I was out the other day and saw this.” He produced a small red velvet jewelry box and held it open for Eddie to see.

Penn nudged around Eddie’s shoulder so she could get a look.

Inside, a thin gold chain held a small circular pendant with a carved line down its middle and a small serpent’s head at the tip.

Eddie looked up at Bill. Was he making fun of Eddie?

Bill touched the pendant. “I thought, after the other day… I wanted to help you face your fear,” he said, sounding almost nervous, afraid that Eddie might not accept. Should he accept? “Only kidding. I just liked it. It’s unique, it reminded me of you.”

It was unique. And very beautiful, and it made Eddie feel strangely unworthy.

“You went shopping?” he found himself asking, because it was easier to discuss how Bill had left campus than it would have been to ask Why me? “I thought the point of reform school is that we’re all stuck here.”

Bill lifted his chin slightly and smiled with his eyes. “There are ways,” he said quietly. “I’ll show you sometime. I could show you—tonight?”

“Billy,” a voice said behind him. It was Ben, tapping his shoulder. Eddie stared at him jealously.

“I need your help setting up,” Ben said.

Eddie looked around and realized they were the only four people left in the classroom.

“Having a little party in my room later,” Ben said, pressing his chin into Bill’s shoulder to address Eddie and Penn. “Y’all are coming, right?”

Ben, whose always looked handsome, and whose blonde hair never failed to swoosh right in the second a guy started talking to Eddie. Even though Richie had said there was nothing going on between them, Eddie knew he was never going to be friends with the boy.

Then again, you didn’t have to like someone to go to his party, especially when certain other people you did like would probably be there…

Or should he take Bill up on his offer? Was Bill really suggesting they sneak out? Only yesterday, a rumor had flown around the classroom when Jules and Phillip, the tongue-pierced couple, didn’t show up for Miss Sophia’s class. Apparently, they’d tried to leave campus in the middle of the night, secret tryst gone wrong—and now they were in some type of solitary confinement whose location even Penn didn’t know about.

The weirdest part was, Miss Sophia—who usually had no tolerance for whispering—hadn’t shut the madly gossiping students up during her lesson. It was almost like the faculty wanted the students to imagine the worst possible punishment for breaking any of their dictatorial rules.

Eddie swallowed, looking up at Bill. He offered his elbow, ignoring Ben and Penn entirely. “How about it?” Bill asked, sounding so charmingly classic Hollywood that Eddie forgot all about what had happened to Jules and Philip.

“Sorry.” Penn butted in, answering for both of them and steering Eddie away by the elbow. “But we have other plans.”

Bill looked at Penn like he was trying to figure out where she’d come from all of a sudden. He had a way of making Eddie feel like a better, cooler version of himself. And he had a way of crossing Bill’s path right after Richie had made him feel exactly the opposite. But Ben was still hovering beside Bill, and Penn’s tug was growing stronger, so finally Eddie just waved the hand still clutching Bill’s gift. “Um, maybe next time! Thanks for the bracelet!”

Leaving Bill and Ben confused in the classroom behind them, Penn and Eddie booked it out of Augustine. It felt creepy to be alone in the dark building so late, and Eddie could tell from the hurried slap of Penn’s sandals on the stairs in front of him that she felt it, too.

Outside, it was windy. An owl crooned in its palmetto tree. When they passed under the oaks alongside the building, straggly tendrils of Spanish moss brushed them like tangled strands of hair.

“Maybe next time?” Penn mimicked Eddie’s voice. “What was that about?”

“Nothing… I don’t know.” Eddie wanted to change the subject. “You make us sound very posh, Penn,” he said, laughing as they trudged along the commons. “Other plans… I though you had fun at the party last week.”

“If you’d ever get around to reading my recent correspondence, you’d see why we have more important things on out plate.”

Eddie emptied his pockets, rediscovered the five uneaten M&M’s, and shared them with Penn, who expressed a very Penn-like sentiment that she hoped they had come from a sanitary place, but ate them anyway.

Eddie unfolded the first of Penn’s notes, which looked like a photocopied page from one of the files in the underground archive:

Benjamin Hanscom

William Denbrough

Edward Kaspbrak

Todd Hammond

PREVIOUS LOCATIONS:

All in the Northeast, except for T. Hammond (Orlando, Florida)

Beverly Marsh

Richard Tozier

Stanley Uris

PREVIOUS LOCATIONS:

Los Angeles, California

Edward’s group was noted as arriving at Sword & Cross on September 15 of this year. The second group had arrived March 15, three years earlier.

Stan’s full name was Stanley Uris? “No wonder he’s so pissed off at the world,” Eddie said. “So where’d you get all this?”

“I dug it out from one of the boxes Miss Sophia brought down the other day,” Penn said. “That’s Miss Sophia’s Handwriting.”

Eddie looked up at her. “What does it mean? Why would she need to record this? I thought they had all our arrival dates separately in our files.”

“They do. I can’t figure it out, either,” Penn said. “And I mean, even though you showed up at the same time as those other kids, it’s not like you have anything in common with them.”

“I couldn’t have less in common with them,” Eddie said, envisioning the coy look Ben always had glued to his face.

Penn scratched her chin. “But when Beverly, Stan, and Richie showed up, they already knew each other. I think they came form the same halfway house in L.A.”

Somewhere there was a key to Richie’s story. There had to be more to him than a halfway house in California. But thinking back to his reaction—that washed-out horror that Eddie might take in interest in knowing anything about him—well, it made Eddie feel like everything he and Penn were doing was futile and immature.

“What’s the point of all of this?” Eddie asked, suddenly annoyed.

“Why Miss Sophia would be collating all that information I can’t figure out. Though Miss Sophia arrived at Sword & Cross the same day as Beverly, Richie, and Stan…” Penn trailed off. “Who knows? Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. There’s just so little mention of Richie in the archives, I figured I’d show you everything I came up with. Hence exhibit B.”

She pointed toward the second note in Eddie’s hand.

Eddie sighed. Part of him wanted to quit the search and stop feeling embarrassed about Richie. The pushier part of him still yearned to get to know Richie better… which, strangely, was far easier to do when he wasn’t technically present to give Eddie new reasons to feel embarrassed.

He looked down at the note, a photocopy of an old-fashioned card from a library catalog.

Tozier, R. The Watchers: Myth in Medieval

Europe. Seraphim Press, Rome, 1755.

Call no: R999.318 TOZ

“Sounds like on of Richie’s ancestors was a scholar,” Penn said, reading over Eddie’s shoulder.

“This must have been what he meant,” Eddie said under his breath. He looked at Penn. “He told me studying religion was in his family. This must be what he meant.”

“I thought he was an orphan—”

“Don’t ask,” Eddie said, waving her off. “Touchy subject with him.” He ran his finger over the book’s title. “What’s a watcher?”

“Only one way to find out,” Penn said, “Through we may live to regret it. ‘Cause this sounds like possibly the most boring book ever. Still,” she added, dusting her knuckles on her shirt, “I took the liberty of checking the catalog. The book should be in the stacks. You can thank me later.”

“You’re good.” Eddie grinned. He was eager to get up to the library. If someone in Richie’s family had written a book, it couldn’t possibly be boring. Or not to Eddie, anyway. But then he looked down at the other thing still in his hand. The velvet jewelry box from Bill.

“What do you think this means?” he asked Penn as they started walking up the mosaic-tiled stairs to the library.

Penn shrugged. “Your feelings on snakes are—”

“Hatred, agony, extreme paranoia, and disgust,” Eddie listed.

“Maybe it’s like… okay, I used to be scared of cactus. Couldn’t go near ‘em—don’t laugh, have you ever pricked yourself on one of those things? They stay in your skin for days. Anyway, one year, for my birthday, my dad bought me like eleven cactus plants. At first I wanted to chuck them at him. But then, you know, I got used to them. I stopped flipping out anytime I was near one. In the end, it totally worked.”

“So you’re saying Bill’s gift,” Eddie said, “is actually really sweet.”

“I guess,” Penn said. “But if I’d known he had the hots for you, I would not have trusted him with our private correspondence. Sorry about that.”

“He does not have the hots for me,” Eddie started to say, fingering the gold chain inside the box, imagining how it would look on his skin. He hadn’t told Penn anything about his picnic with Bill because—well, he didn’t really know why. It had to do with Richie, and how Eddie still couldn’t figure out where he stood—or wanted to stand—with either of them.

“Ha.” Penn cackled. “Which means you kinda like him! Cheating on Richie. I can’t keep up with you and your men.”

“As if anything is going on with either of them,” Eddie said glumly. “Do you think Bill read the notes?”

“If he did, and he still gave you that bracelet,” Penn said, “then he’s really into you.”

They stepped inside the library, and the heavy double doors thudded behind them. The sound echoed through the room. Miss Sophia looked up from the mounds of paper covering her lamplit desk.

“Oh, hello,” she said, beaming so broadly that Eddie felt guilty all over again for zoning out during her lecture. “I hope you enjoyed my brief review session!” she practically sang.

“Very much.” Eddie nodded, though there had been nothing brief about it. “We came here to review a few more things before the exam.”

“That’s right,” Penn chimed in. “You inspired us.”

“How wonderful!” Miss Sophia rustled through her paperwork. “I’ve got a further reading list somewhere. I’d be happy to make you a copy.”

“Great,” Penn lied, giving Eddie a small push toward the stacks. “We’ll let you know if we need it!”

Beyond Miss Sophia’s desk, the library was quiet. Eddie and Penn eyed the call numbers as they passed shelf after shelf toward the books on religion. The energy-saving lights had motion detectors and were supposed to turn on as they crossed each aisle, but only about half of them worked. Eddie realized that Penn was still holding on to his arm, then realized he didn’t want her to let go.

They came to the usually crowded study section, where only one table lamp burned. Everyone else must have been at Ben’s party. Everyone except for Todd. He had his feet kicked up on the chair across from him and seemed to be reading a coffee-table-sized world atlas. When they walked by him, he looked up with a wan expression that was either very lonely or slightly annoyed at being disturbed.

“You guys are here late,” Todd said flatly.

“So are you,” Penn retorted, sticking out her tongue dramatically.

When they’d put a few shelves between them and Todd, Eddie raised an eyebrow at Penn. “What was that?”

“What?” Penn sulked. “He flirts with me.” She crossed her arms over her chest and blew a brown curlicue of hair out of her eyes. “As if.”

“Are you in fourth grade?” Eddie teased. 

Penn stuck her pointer finger up at Eddie with an intensity that would have made Eddie jump if she hadn’t been giggling so much. “Do you know anyone else who would delve into Richie Tozier’s family history with you? Didn’t think so. Leave me alone.”

By then, they had reached the far back corner of the library, where all the 999 books were arranged along a single pewter-colored bookshelf. Penn crouched down and traced the books’ spines with her finger. Eddie felt a tremor, like someone was running a finger along his neck. He craned his head around and saw a wisp of gray. Not black, like the shadows usually were, but lighter, thinner. Just as unwelcome.

He watched, wide-eyed, as the shadow stretched out in a long, curling strand directly over Penn’s head. It came down slowly, like a threaded needle, and Eddie didn’t want to think about what might happen if it touched his friend. The other day at the gym had been the first time the shadows had touched him—and he still felt violated, almost dirty from it. He didn’t know what else they could do.

Nervous, unsteady, Eddie stretched his arm out like a baseball bat. He took a deep breath and swung forward. He bristled at the icy contact as he knocked the shadow away—and clocked Penn upside the head.

Penn pressed her hands against her skull and looked back at Eddie in shock. “What is wrong with you?”

Eddie sank down next to her and smoothed the top of Penn’s hair. “I’m so sorry. There was… I thought I saw a bee… land on your head. I panicked. I didn’t want it to sting you.”

He could feel how utterly, utterly lame this excuse was and waited for his friend to tell him he was crazy—what would a bee be doing in a library? He waited for Penn to walk out.

But Penn’s round face softened. She took Eddie’s hand in both of hers and shook it. “Bees terrify me, too,” she said. “I’m deathly allergic. You basically just saved my life.”

It was like they were having a huge bonding moment—only they weren’t, because Eddie was wholly consumed by the shadows. If only there were a way to push them from his mind, to shrug the shadow thing off, without shrugging off Penn.

Eddie had a strong, uneasy feeling about this light gray shadow. The uniformity of the shadows had never been comforting, but these latest variations were a new level of disconcerting. Did it mean more kinds of shadows were finding their way to him? Or was he just getting better at distinguishing them? And what about that weird moment during Miss Sophia’s lecture, when he’d actually pinched a shadow back before it could enter his pocket? He’d done it without thinking, and had had no reason to except that his two fingers would be any match for a shadow, but they had been—he glanced around the stacks—at least temporarily.

He wondered whether he had set some kind of precedent for interacting with the shadows. Except that to call what he’d done to the shadow hovering over Penn’s head “interacting”—even Eddie knew that was a euphemism. A cold, sick feeling grew in his gut when he realized that what he’d started doing to the shadows was more like… fighting them off.

“It’s the strangest thing.” Penn spoke up from the floor. “It should be right here between The Dictionary of Angels and this god-awful Billy Graham fire-and-brimstone thing.” She looked up at Eddie. “But it’s gone.”

“I thought you said—”

“I did. The computer had it listed as on the shelves when I looked this afternoon, but we can’t get online this late to check again.”

“Go ask Todd-o out there,” Eddie suggested. “Maybe he’s using it as a cover his Playboys.”

“Gross.” Penn whacked him on the thigh.

Eddie knew he’d only made the joke to try to downplay his disappointment. It was just so frustrating. He couldn’t find out anything about Richie without running up against a wall. He didn’t know what he’d find inside the pages of Richie’s great-great-whatever’s book, but at least it would tell him something more about Richie. Which had to be better than nothing.

“Stay here,” Penn said, standing up. “I’m going to go ask Miss Sophia if anyone’s checked it out today.”

Eddie watched her traipse back up the long aisle toward the front desk. He laughed when Penn sped up to pass the area where Todd was sitting.

Alone in the back corner, Eddie fingered some of the other books on the shelves. He did a quick mental run-through of the student body at Sword & Cross, but he couldn’t think of any likely candidates for checking out an old religious book. Maybe Miss Sophia had used it as reference for her review session earlier. Eddie wondered what it must have been like for Richie to sit there, listening to the librarian talk about things that had probably been dinner-table topics of conversation when he was growing up. Eddie wanted to know what his childhood had been like. What had happened to his family? Had his upbringing at the orphanage been religious? Or was his childhood anything like Eddie’s, in which the only things pursued religiously were good grades and academic honors? He wanted to know whether Richie had ever read this book by his ancestor and what he’d thought about it, and if he liked writing himself. Eddie wanted to know what he was doing right now at Ben’s party and when his birthday was and what size shoe he wore and whether he ever wasted a single second of his time wondering about Eddie.

Eddie shook his head. This train of thought was heading straight for Pity City, and he wanted to get off. He pulled the first book off the shelf—the very unfascinating cloth-covered Dictionary of Angels—and decided to distract himself by reading until Penn came back.

He’d gotten as far as the fallen angel Abbadon, who regretted siding with Satan and constantly bemoaned his bad decision—yawn—when a blaring noise rang out over his head. Eddie looked up to see the red flash of the fire alarm.

“Alert. Alert,” a monotone robotic voice announced over a loudspeaker. “The fire alarm has been activated. Evacuate the building.”

Eddie slid the book back on the shelf and pulled himself to his feet. They’d done this kind of thing at Dover all the time. After a while, it had reached the point where not even the teachers had heeded the monthly fire drills, so the fire department started really setting off the alarm just to get people to respond. Eddie could totally see the administrators at Sword & Cross pulling a similar stunt. But when he started walking toward the exit, he was surprised to find himself coughing. There was actual smoke inside the library.

“Penn?” he called out, hearing his voice echo in his ears. He knew he’d be drowned out by the piercing shriek of the alarm.

The acrid smell of the smoke dropped him instantly back into the blaze that night with Trevor. Images and sounds flooded his mind, things he’d stuffed so deep inside his memory they might as well have been obliterated. Until now.

The shocking whites of Trevor’s eyes against the orange glow. The individual tendrils of flame as the fire spread through each one of his fingers. The shrill, un-ending scream that rang in his head like a siren long after Trevor had given up. And the whole time, he’d stood there watching, he couldn’t stop watching, frozen in that bath of heat. Eddie hadn’t been able to move. He hadn’t been able to do a thing to help Trevor. So he’d died.

He felt a hand grip his left wrist and spun around, expecting to see Penn. It was Todd. The whites of his own eyes were huge, and he was coughing, too.

“We have to get out of here,” he said, breathing fast. “I think there’s an exit toward the back.”

“What about Penn, and Miss Sophia?” Eddie asked. He was feeling weak and dizzy. He rubbed his eyes. “They were over there.” When he pointed up the aisle toward the entrance, he could see how much thicker the smoke was in that direction.

Todd looked doubtful for a second, but then he nodded. “Okay,” he said, keeping hold of Eddie’s wrist as they crouched down and sprinted toward the front doors of the library. They took a right when one aisle looked particularly thick with smoke, then found themselves facing a wall of books without a clue which way to run. Both of them stopped to gasp. The smoke that only a moment earlier had hovered just above their heads now pressed low against their shoulders.

Even ducking below it, they were choking. And they couldn’t see as much as a few feet in front of them. Making sure to keep a hold on Todd, Eddie spun around in a circle, suddenly unsure which direction they’d come from. He reached out and felt the hot metal shelf of one of the stacks. He couldn’t even make out the letters on the spines. Were they in the D section or the O’s?

There were no clues to guide them toward Penn and Miss Sophia, and no clues to guide them to the exit, either. Eddie felt a surge of panic course through him, making it even more difficult to breathe.

“They must have already gone out the front doors!” Todd shouted, sounding only half convinced. “We have to turn back!”

Eddie bit his lip. If anything happened to Penn…

He could barely see Todd, who was standing right in front of him. Todd was right, but which way was back? Eddie nodded mutely, and felt Todd’s hand tugging his.

For a long time, he moved without knowing where they were going, but as they ran, the smoke lifted, little by little, until, eventually, he saw the red glow of an emergency exit sign. Eddie breathed a sigh of relief as Todd fumbled for the door handle and finally pushed it open.

They were in a hallway Eddie had never seen before. Todd slammed the door shut behind them. They gasped and filled their lungs with clean air. It tasted so good, Eddie wanted to sink his teeth into it, to drink a gallon of it, bathe himself it. He and Todd both coughed the smoke out of their lungs until they started laughing, an uneasy, only half-relieved laugh. They laughed until he was crying. But even when Eddie finished crying and coughing, his eyes continued to tear.

How could he breathe in this air when he didn’t even know what had happened to Penn? If Penn hadn’t made it out—if she was collapsed somewhere inside—then Eddie had failed someone he cared about again. Only this time it would be so much worse.

He wiped his eyes and watched a puff of smoke curl out from underneath the crack at the base of the door. They weren’t safe yet. There was another door at the end of the hallway. Through the glass panel in the door, Eddie could see the wobble of a tree branch in the night. He exhaled. In a few moments, they’d be outside, away from these choking fumes.

If they were fast enough, they could go around to the front entrance and make sure Penn and Miss Sophia had made it out okay.

“Come on,” Eddie told Todd, who was folded over himself, wheezing. “We have to keep going.”

Todd straightened up, but Eddie could see he was really overcome. His face was red, his eyes were wild and wet. Eddie practically had to drag him toward the door.

Eddie was so focused on getting out that it took him too long to process the heavy, swishing noise that had fallen over them, drowning out the alarms.

He looked up into a maelstrom of shadows. A spectrum of shades of gray and deepest black. He should only be able to see as far as the ceiling overhead, but the shadows seemed somehow to extend beyond its limits. Into a strange and hidden sky. They were all tangled up in each other, and yet they were distinct.

Amid them was the lighter, grayish one he’d seen earlier. It was no longer shaped like a needle, but now looked almost like the flame of a match. It bobbed over them in the hallway. Had he really fended off that amorphous darkness when it threatened to graze Penn’s head? The memory made his palms itch and his toes curl.

Todd started banging on the walls, as if the hallway were closing in on them. He knew they were nowhere near the door. Eddie grabbed for his hand, but their sweaty palms slid off each other. Eddie wrapped his fingers tight around his wrist. Todd was white as a ghost, crouched down near the floor, almost cowering. A terrified moan escaped his lips.

Because the smoke was now filling up the hallway?

Or because Todd could sense the shadows, too?

Impossible.

And yet Todd’s face was pinched and horrified. Much more so now that the shadows were overhead.

“Eddie?” His voice shook.

Another horde of shadows rose up directly in their path. A deep black blanket of dark spread out across the walls and made it impossible for Eddie to see the door. He looked at Todd—could he see it?

“Run!” Eddie yelled.

Could Todd even run? His face was ashy and his eyelids drooped shut. He was on the verge of passing out. But then it suddenly seemed like Todd was carrying him.

Or something was carrying both of them.

“What the hell?” Todd cried out.

Their feet skimmed the floor for just a moment. It felt like riding a wave in the ocean, a light crest that lifted him higher, filling his body with air. Eddie didn’t know where he was headed—he couldn’t even see the door, just a snarl of inky shadows all around. Hovering but not touching him. He should have been terrified, but he wasn’t. Somehow he felt protected from the shadows, like something was shielding him—something fluid but impenetrable. Something uncannily familiar. Something strong, but also gentle. Something—

Almost too quickly, he and Todd were at the door. Eddie’s feet hit the floor again, and he shoved himself against the door’s emergency exit bar.

Then he heaved. Choked. Gasped. Gagged.

Another alarm was clanging. But it sounded far away.

The wind whipped at his neck. They were outside! Standing on a small ledge. A flight of stairs led down to the commons, and even though everything in his head felt cloudy and filled with smoke, Eddie thought he could hear voices somewhere nearby.

He turned back to try to figure out what had just happened. How had he and Todd made it through that thickest, blackest, impenetrable shadow? And what was the thing that had saved them? Eddie felt its absence.

He almost wanted to go back and search for it.

But the hallway was dark, and his eyes were still watering, and he couldn’t make out the twisting shadow shapes anymore. Maybe they were gone.

Then there was a jagged stroke of light, something that looked like a tree trunk with branches—no, like a torso with long, broad limbs. A pulsing, almost violet column of light hovering over them. It made Eddie think, absurdly, of Richie. He was seeing things. He took a deep breath and tried to blink the smoky tears from his eyes. But the light was still there. He sensed more than heard it call to him, calming him, a lullaby in the middle of a war zone.

So he didn’t see the shadow coming.

It body-slammed into him and Todd, breaking their grip on each other and tossing Eddie into the air.

Eddie landed in a heap at the foot of the stairs. An agonized grunt escaped his lips.

For one long moment, his head throbbed. He’d never known pain as deep and searing as this. He cried out into the night, into the clash of light and shadow overhead.

But then it all became too much and Eddie surrendered, closing his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go. This is half way through the story. What do you think saved Eddie and Todd?


	12. Rude Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie wakes up in the hospital and there are some people there to see him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

“Are you scared?” Richie asked. His head was tilted sideways, his black hair disheveled by a soft breeze. He was holding Eddie, and while Richie’s grip was firm around his waist, it was as smooth and light as a silk sash. Eddie’s own fingers were laced behind his shirtless neck.

Was he scared? Of course not. He was with Richie. Finally. In his arms. The truer question pulling at the back of his mind: Should he be scared? He couldn’t be sure. He didn’t even know where he was.

Eddie could smell rain in the air, close by. But both he and Richie were dry. He could feel long white pants flowing down to his ankles. There was only a little light left in the day. Eddie felt a stabbing regret at wasting the sunset, as if there were anything he could do to stop it. Somehow he knew these final rays of light were as precious as the last drops of honey in a jar.

“Will you stay with me?” Eddie asked. His voice was the thinnest whisper, almost canceled out by a low groan of thunder. A gust of wind swirled around them, brushing Eddie’s hair into his eyes. Richie folded his arms more tightly around him, until Eddie could breathe in his breath, could smell Richie’s skin on his.

“Forever,” Richie whispered back. The sweet sound of his voice filled Eddie up.

There was a small scratch on the left side of Richie’s forehead, but he forgot it as Richie cupped his cheek and brought his face nearer. Eddie tilted his head back and felt the whole of his body go slack with expectation.

Finally, finally, Richie’s lips came down on his with an urgency that took his breath away. Richie kissed him as if Eddie belonged to him, as naturally as if Eddie were some long-lost part of him that he could at last reclaim.

Then the rain started to fall. It soaked their hair, ran down their faces and into their mouths. The rain was warm and intoxication, like the kisses themselves.

Eddie reached around Richie’s back to draw him closer, and his hands slid over something velvety. He ran one hand over it, then another, searching for its limits, and then peered past Richie’s glowing face.

Something was unfurling behind him.

Wings. Lustrous and iridescent, beating slowly, effortlessly, shining in the rain. Eddie had seen them before, maybe, or something like them somewhere.

“Richie,” he said, gasping. The wings consumed his vision and his mind. They seemed to swirl into a million colors, making his head hurt. Eddie tried to look elsewhere, anywhere else, but on all sides, all he could see besides Richie were the endless pinks and blues of the sunset sky. Until he looked down and took in one last thing.

The ground.

Thousands of feet below them.

***

When Eddie opened his eyes, it was too bright, his skin was too dry, and there was a splitting pain at the back of his head. The sky was gone and so was Richie.

Another dream.

Only this one left him feeling almost sick with desire.

He was in a white-walled room. Lying on a hospital bed. To his left, a paper-thin curtain had been dragged halfway across the room, separating him from something bustling on the other side.

Eddie gingerly touched the tender spot at the base of his neck and whimpered.

He tried to get his bearings. He didn’t know where he was, but he had a distinct feeling that he wasn’t at Sword & Cross any longer. His billowy white pants were—he patted his sides—a baggy hospital gown. He could feel every part of the dream slipping away—everything but those wings. They’d been so real. The touch of them so velvety and fluid. His stomach churned. He clenched and unclenched his fists, hyperaware of their emptiness.

Someone grasped and squeezed his right hand. Eddie turned his head quickly and winced. He’d assumed he was alone. Ben was perched on the edge of a faded blue rolling chair that seemed, annoyingly, to complement the color of his eyes.

Eddie wanted to pull away—or at least, he expected to want to pull away—but then Ben gave him the warmest smile, one that made Eddie feel somehow safe, and he realized he was glad he wasn’t alone.

“How much of it was a dream?” he murmured.

Ben laughed. He had a pot of cuticle cream on the table next to him, and he began rubbing the white, lemon-scented stuff into Eddie’s nail beds. “That all depends,” he said, massaging Eddie’s fingers. “But never mind dreams. I know that whenever I feel my world turning upside down, nothing grounds me like a friend.”

Eddie glanced down. He’d never been much for nail polish himself, but Ben’s words made him smile. As Ben’s slow hands worked over his fingers, Eddie wondered whether all these years, he’d been missing out.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Lullwater Hospital.”

His first trip off campus and he ended up in a hospital five minutes from his parents’ house. The last time he’d been here was to get three stitches in his elbow when he’d fallen off his bike. His father hadn’t left his side. Now he was nowhere to be seen.

“How long have I been here?” he asked.

Ben looked at a white clock on the wall and said, “They found you passed out from smoke inhalation last night around eleven. It’s standard operating procedure to call for EMTs when they find a reform kid unconscious, but don’t worry, Randy said they’re going to let you out of here pretty soon. As soon as your parents give the okay—”

“My parents are here?”

“And filled with concern for their son, right down to the split ends of your mom’s permed hair. They’re in the hallway, drowning in paperwork. I told them I’d keep an eye on you.”

Eddie groaned and pressed his face into the pillow, calling up the deep pain at the back of his head again.

“If you don’t want to see them…”

But Eddie wasn’t groaning about his parents. He was dying to see his parents. He was remembering the library, the fire, and the new breed of shadows that grew more terrifying every time they found him. They’d always been dark and unsightly, they’d always made him nervous, but last night, it had almost seemed as if the shadows wanted something from him. And then there was that other thing, the levitating force that had set him free.

“What’s that look?” Ben asked, cocking his head and waving his hand in the air in front of Eddie’s face. “What are you thinking about?”

Eddie didn’t know what to make of Ben’s sudden kindness towards him. Nurse’s assistant didn’t exactly seem like the kind of gig Ben would volunteer for, and it wasn’t like there were any people around whose attention he could monopolize. Ben didn’t even seem to like Eddie. He wouldn’t just show up here of his own accord, would he?

But even as nice as Ben was being, there was no way to explain what had happened last night. The grisly, unspeakable gathering in the hallway. The surreal sensation of being propelled forward through that blackness. The strange, compelling figure of light.

“Where’s Todd?” Eddie asked, remembering the boy’s fearful eyes. He’d lost his grip on him, gone flying, and then…

The paper curtain was suddenly slung back, and there was Beverly, wearing in-line skates and red-and-white candy striper uniform. Her short red hair was twisted up in a series of knots on top of her head. She rolled in, carrying a tray on which sat three coconut shells topped with neon-colored umbrella party straws.

“Now lemme get this straight,” she said in a throaty, nasal voice. “You put the lime in the coconut and drink ‘em both up—whoa, long faces. What am I interrupting?”

Beverly wheeled to a stop at the foot of Eddie’s bed. She extended a coconut with a bobbing pink umbrella.

Ben jumped up and seized the coconut first, giving its contents a sniff. “Beverly, he has just been through a trauma,” he scolded. “And for your information, what you interrupted was the topic of Todd.”

Beverly tossed her shoulders back. “Precisely why he needs something with a kick,” she argued, holding the tray possessively while she and Ben engaged in a stare-down.

“Fine,” Beverly said, looking away from Ben. “I’ll give him your boring old drink.” She gave Eddie the coconut with the blue straw.

Eddie must have been in some kind of post-traumatic daze. Where would they have gotten any of this stuff? Coconut shells? Drink umbrellas? It was like he’d been conked out at reform school and woken up at Club Med.

“Where did you guys get all this stuff?” he asked. “I mean, thank you, but—”

“We pool out resources when we need to,” Beverly said. “Mike helped.”

The three of them sat slurping the frosty, sweet drinks for a moment, until Eddie couldn’t take it anymore. “So back to Todd…?”

“Todd,” Ben said, clearing his throat. “Thing is… he just inhaled a lot more of that smoke than you did—”

“He did not,” Beverly spat. “He broke his neck.”

Eddie gasped, and Ben hit Beverly with his drink umbrella.

“What?” Beverly said. “Eddie can handle it. If he’s going to find out eventually, why sugarcoat it?”

“The evidence is still inconclusive,” Ben said, stressing the words.

Beverly shrugged. “Eddie was there, he must have seen—”

“I didn’t see what happened to him,” Eddie said. “We were together and then somehow we were thrown apart. I had a bad feeling, but I didn’t know,” he whispered. “So he’s…”

“Gone from this world,” Ben said softly.

Eddie closed his eyes. A chill spread through him that had nothing to do with the drink. He remembered Todd’s frenzied banging on the walls, his sweaty hand squeezing Eddie’s when the shadows roared down on them, the awful moment when the two of them had been spilt apart and Eddie had been too overcome to go to him.

Todd had seen the shadows. Eddie was certain of it now. And he’d died.

After Trevor died, not a week had gone by without a hare letter finding its way to Eddie. His parents started trying to vet the mail before he could read the poisonous stuff, but too much still reached him. Some letters were handwritten, some were typed, one had even been cut from magazine letters, ransom-note style. Murderer. Witch. They’d called him enough cruel names to fill a scrapbook, caused enough agony to keep him locked inside the house all summer.

He thought he’d done so much to move on from that nightmare: leaving his past behind when he came to Sword & Cross, focusing on his classes, making friends… of God. He sucked in his breath. “What about Penn?” he asked, biting his lip.

“Penn’s fine,” Beverly said. “She’s all front-page-story, eyewitness-to-the-fire. She and Miss Sophia both got out, smelling like an East Maine smoke pit, but no worse for the wear.”

Eddie let out his breath. At least there was one piece of good news. But under the paper-thin infirmary sheets, he was trembling. Soon, surely the same types of people who’d come to him after Trevor’s death would come to him again. Not just the ones who wrote the angry letters. Dr. Sanford. His parole officer. The police.

Just like before, he’d be expected to have the whole story pieced together. To remember every single detail. But of course, just like before, he wouldn’t be able to. One minute, Todd had been at his side, just the two of them. The next—

“Eddie!” Penn barged into the room, holding a big brown helium balloon. It was shaped like a Band-Aid and said Stick It Out in blue cursive letters. “What is this?” she asked, looking at the other three students critically. “Some sort of slumber party?”

Beverly had unlaced her skates and climbed onto the tiny bed next to Eddie. She was double-fisting the coconut drinks and laying her head on Eddie’s shoulder. Ben was painting clear nail polish on Eddie’s coconut free hand.

“Yeah,” Beverly cackled. “Join us, Pennyloafer. We were just about to play Truth of Dare. We’ll let you go first.”

Ben tried to cover up his laugh with a fake sneeze.

Penn put her hands on her hips. Eddie felt bad for them, and was also a little scared. Penn looked pretty fierce.

“One of our classmates died last night,” Penn carefully enunciated. “And Eddie could have been really hurt.” She shook her head. “How can you two play around at a time like this?” She sniffed. “Is that alcohol?”

“Ohhh,” Beverly said, looking at Penn, her face serious. “You liked him, didn’t you?”

Penn picked up a pillow from the chair behind her and chucked it at Beverly. The thing was, Penn was right. It was strange that Beverly and Ben were taking Todd’s death… almost lightly. Like they saw this kind of thing happen all the time. Like it didn’t affect them the way it affected Eddie. But they couldn’t know what Eddie knew about Todd’s last moments. They couldn’t know why he felt so sick right now. He patted the foot of the bed for Penn and handed her what was left in his frosty coconut.

“We went out the back exit, and then—” Eddie couldn’t even say the words. “What happened to you and Miss Sophia?”

Penn glanced doubtfully at Beverly and Ben, but neither made a move to be obnoxious. Penn gave in and settled on the edge of the bed.

“I just went up there to ask her about—” She glanced at the other two students again, then gave Eddie a knowing look. “This question I had. She didn’t know the answer, but she wanted to show me another book.”

Eddie had forgotten all about his and Penn’s quest last night. It seemed so far away, and so beside the point after what had happened.

“We took two steps away from Miss Sophia’s desk,” Penn continued, “and there was this massive burst of light out of the corner of my eye. I mean, I’ve read about spontaneous combustion, but this was…”

All of them were leaning forward by then. Penn’s story was front-page news.

“Something must have started it,” Eddie said, trying to picture Miss Sophia’s desk in his mind. “But I didn’t think there was anyone else in the library.”

Penn shook her head. “There wasn’t. Miss Sophia said a wire must have shorted in a lamp. Whatever happened, that fire had a lot of fuel. All her documents went right up.” She snapped her fingers.

“But she’s okay?” Eddie asked, fingering the papery hem of his hospital gown.

“Distraught, but okay,” Penn said. “The sprinklers came on eventually, but I guess she lost a whole lot of her things. When they told her what happened to Todd, it was almost like she was too numb to even understand.”

“Maybe we’re all too numb to understand,” Eddie said. This time Ben and Beverly nodded on either side of him. “Do—do Todd’s parents know?” he asked, wondering how on earth he would explain to his own parents what had happened.

He imagined them filling out paperwork in the lobby. Would they even want to see him? Would they connect Todd’s death with Trevor’s… and trace both awful stories back to him?

“I overheard Randy on the phone with Todd’s parents,” Penn said. “I think they’re filing a lawsuit. His body is being sent back to Florida later today.”

That was it? Eddie swallowed.

“Sword & Cross is having a memorial service for him on Thursday,” Ben said quietly. “Richie and I are going to help organize it.”

“Richie?” Eddie repeated before he could control himself. He glanced at Ben, and even in his grief-stricken state, he couldn’t help reverting to his initial image of the boy: a handsome, blonde seducer.

“He was the one who found the two of you last night,” Ben said. “He carried you from the library to Randy’s office.”

Richie had carried him. As in... his arms around Eddie’s body? The dream rushed back and the sensation of flying—no, of floating—overwhelmed him. He felt too tethered down to his bed. He ached for that same sky, that rain, Richie’s mouth, Richie’s teeth, Richie’s tongue melding with his again. Eddie’s face grew hot, first with desire, then with the agonizing impossibility of any of that ever happening while he was awake. Those glorious, blinding wings weren’t the only fantastical things about that dream. The real-life Richie would only carry him to the nurse’s station. Richie would never want him, never take Eddie in his arms, not like that.

“Uh, Eddie, are you okay?” Penn asked. She was fanning Eddie’s flushed cheeks with her drink umbrella.

“Fine,” Eddie said. It was impossible to push those wings out of his mind. To forget the sensation of Richie’s face over his. “Just still recovering, I guess.”

Ben patted his hand. “When we heard about what happened, we sweet-talked Randy into letting us come visit,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

There was a knock at the door. Eddie waited to see his parents’ nervous faces, but no one came in. Ben stood and looked at Beverly, who made no move to get up. “You guys stay here. I’ll handle this.”

Eddie was still overcome by what they’d told him about Richie. Even though it didn’t make any sense at all, he wanted it to be Richie outside that door.

“How is he?” a voice asked in a whisper. But Eddie heard it. It was Richie. Ben murmured something back.

“What is all this congregating?” Randy growled from outside the room. Eddie knew with a sinking heart that this meant visiting hours were over. “Whoever talked me into letting you hooligans tag along gets a detention. And no, Tozier, I will not accept flowers as bribes. All of you, get in the minivan.”

Hearing the attendant’s voice, Beverly and Penn cringed, then scrambled to stash the coconut shells under the bed. Penn stuffed the drink umbrellas inside her pencil case and Beverly spritzed the air with some serious vanilla musk perfume. She slipped Eddie a piece of spearmint gum.

Penn gagged on a floating cloud of perfume, then leaned quickly into Eddie and whispered, “As soon as you’re back on your feet, we’ll find the book. I think it’d be good for us both to stay busy, keep our minds off things.”

Eddie squeezed Penn’s hand in thanks and smiled at Beverly, who looked too busy lacing up her roller skates to have heard.

That was when Randy barged through the door. “More congregating!” she cried. “Unbelievable.”

“We were just—” Penn started to say.

“Leaving,” Randy finished for her. She had a bouquet of wild white peonies in her hand. Strange. They were Eddie’s favorites. And it was hard to find them in bloom around here.

Randy opened a cabinet under the sink and rooted around for a minute, then pulled out a small, dusty vase. She filled it with cloudy water from the tap, stuffed the peonies roughly inside, and set them on the table next to Eddie. “These are from your friends,” she said, “who will all now make their departures.”

The door was wide open, and Eddie could see Richie leaning against the frame. His chin was lifted and his gray eyes were shadowed with concern. He met Eddie’s gaze and gave him a small smile. When Richie brushed his hair away from his eyes, Eddie could see a small, dark red gash on his forehead.

Randy steered Penn, Beverly, and Ben out the door. But Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off Richie. He raised a hand in the air and mouthed what Eddie thought was I’m sorry, just before Randy shoved them out.

“I hope they didn’t wear you out,” Randy said, lurking in the doorway with an unsympathetic frown.

“Oh no!” Eddie shook his head, realizing how much he’d come to rely on Penn’s loyalty and Beverly’s quirky way of lightening even the soberest mood. Ben, too, had been truly kind to him. And Richie, though Eddie had barely seen him, had done more to restore his peace of mind than he could ever know. Richie had come by to check on him. He’d been thinking of Eddie.

“Good,” Randy said. “Because visiting hours aren’t over yet.”

Again, Eddie’s heart picked up as he waited to see his parents. But there was just a brisk clicking on the linoleum floor, and soon Eddie saw the tiny frame of Miss Sophia. A colorful autumnal pashmina was draped over her thin shoulders, and her lips were painted deep red to match. Behind her walked a short, bald man in a suit, and two police officers, one chubby and one thin, both with receding hairlines and crossed arms.

The chubby police officer was younger. He took a seat on the chair next to Eddie, then—noticing that no one else had moved to sit down—stood back up and re-crossed his arms.

The bald man stepped forward and offered Eddie his hand. “I’m Mr. Schultz, Sword & Cross’s attorney.” Eddie stiffly shook his hand. “These officers are just going to ask you a couple of questions. Nothing to be used in a court, only an effort to corroborate details from the accident—”

“And I insisted on being here during the questioning, Edward,” Miss Sophia added, coming forward to stroke Eddie’s hair. “How are you, dear?” she whispered. “In a state of amnesiac shock?”

“I’m okay—”

Eddie broke off as he caught sight of two more figures in the doorway. He almost burst into tears when he saw his mother’s dark, curly head and his father’s big tortoiseshell glasses.

“Mom,” he whispered, too low for anyone else to hear. “Dad.”

They rushed toward the bed, throwing their arms around him and squeezing his hands. He wanted to hug them so badly, but he felt too weak to do much more than stay still and take in the familiar comfort of their touch. Their eyes looked just as scared as he felt.

“Eddie bear, what happened?” his mom asked.

He couldn’t say a word.

“I told them you were innocent,” Miss Sophia said, turning to remind the officers. “Eerie similarities be damned.”

Of course they had Trevor’s accident on record, and of course the cops would find it… remarkable in light of Todd’s death. Eddie had enough practice with police officers to know that he was only going to leave them frustrated and annoyed.

The thin cop had long sideburns that were going gray. Eddie’s open file in his hand seemed to require his full attention, because not once did he look up at Eddie.

“Mr. Kaspbrak,” he said. “Why were you and Mr. Hammond alone in the library at such a late hour when all the other students were at a party?”

Eddie glanced at his parents. His mom was chewing off her lipstick. His father’s face was as white as the bedsheet.

“I wasn’t with Todd,” he said, not understanding the line of questioning. “I was with Penn, my friend. And Miss Sophia was there. Todd was reading on his own and when the fire started, I lost Penn, and Todd was the only one I could find.”

“The only one you could fine… to do what with?”

“Hold on a minute.” Mr. Schultz stepped forward to interrupt the cop. “This was an accident, may I remind you. You’re not interrogating a suspect.”

“No, I want to answer,” Eddie said. There were so many people in this tiny room that he didn’t know where to look. He eyed the cop. “What do you mean?”

“Are you an angry person, Mr. Kaspbrak?” He gripped the folder. “Would you call yourself a loner?”

“That’s enough,” his father interrupted.

“Yes, Edward is a serious student,” Miss Sophia added. “He had no ill will toward Todd Hammond. What happened was an accident, no more.”

The officer glanced toward the open doorway, as if wishing Miss Sophia would relocate herself outside it. “Yes, ma’am. Well, with these reform school cases, giving the benefit of the doubt is not always the most responsible—”

“I’ll tell you everything I know,” Eddie said, balling up his sheet in his fist. “I don’t have anything to hide.”

He took them through it as best he could, speaking slowly and clearly so he would raise no new questions for his parents, so the cops could take notes. He didn’t let himself slide into emotion, which seemed like exactly what everyone was expecting. And—leaving out the appearance of the shadows—the story made a lot of sense.

They’d run for the back door. They’d found the exit at the end of a long corridor. The stairs dropped quickly, steeply off the ledge, and he and Todd had both been running with such force, they couldn’t stop themselves from tumbling down the stairs. He lost track of Todd, hit his head hard enough to wake up here twelve hours later. That was all he remembered.

He left them very little to argue over. There was only his true memory of the night for him to grapple with—on his own.

When it was over, Mr. Schultz gave the police officers an are-you-satisfied tilt of his head, and Miss Sophia beamed at Eddie, as if together they’d succeeded at something impossible. Eddie’s mother let out a long sigh.

“We’ll mull this over at the station,” the thin officer said, closing Eddie’s file with such resignation, he seemed to want to be thanked for his services.

Then the four of them left the room and he was alone with his parents.

He gave them his very best take-me-home look. His mom’s lip trembled, but his dad only swallowed.

“Randy’s going to take you back to Sword & Cross this afternoon,” he said. “Don’t look so shocked, son. The doctor said you’re fine.”

“More than fine,” his mom added, but she sounded uncertain.

His dad patted his arm. “We’ll see you on Saturday. Just a few more days.”

Saturday. He closed his eyes. Parents’ Day. He’d been looking forward to it from the moment he’d arrived at Sword & Cross, but now everything was tainted by Todd’s death. His parents seemed almost eager to leave him. They had a way of not really wanting to deal with the realities of having a reform school son. They were so normal. He couldn’t really blame them.

“Get some rest now, Eddie,” his dad said, bending down to kiss his forehead. “You’ve had a long, hard night.”

“But—”

He was exhausted. He briefly closed his eyes and when he opened them, his parents were already waving from the doorway.

He plucked a plump white flower from the vase and brought it slowly to his face, admiring the deeply lobed leaves and fragile petals, the still-moist drops of nectar inside its center. He breathed in the flower’s soft, spicy scent.

He tried to imagine the way they would have looked in Richie’s hands. He tried to imagine where Richie had gotten them, and what had been on his mind.

It was such a strange choice of flower. Wild peonies didn’t grow in Maine. They wouldn’t even take to the soil in his father’s garden in Derry. What was more, these didn’t look like any peonies Eddie had ever seen before. The blooms were as large as cupped palms, and the smell reminded him of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

I’m sorry, Richie had said. Only Eddie couldn’t figure out for what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided not to make Sonia totally horrible because Eddie has enough to deal with


	13. Into Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie finally tells someone about the shadows, only they don’t seem to think he is crazy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

In the hazy dusk over the cemetery, a vulture circled. Two days had passed since Todd’s death, and Eddie hadn’t been able to eat or sleep. He was standing in a black suit in the basin of the graveyard, where the whole of Sword & Cross had gathered to pay its respects to Todd. As if one unenthusiastic hourlong ceremony were enough. Especially since the campus’s only chapel had been turned into the natatorium, and the ceremony had to be held in the grim swampland of the cemetery.

Since the accident, the school had been on lockdown, and the faculty had been the definition of tight-lipped. Eddie had spent the past two days avoiding the stares of the other students, who all eyed him with varying degrees of suspicion. The ones he didn’t know very well seemed to look at him with a faint hint of fear. Others, like Mike and Stan, ogled him in a different, much more shameless manner, as if there were something darkly fascinating about his survival. He endured the probing eyes as best he could during class, and was glad at night when Penn dropped by to bring him a steaming mug of ginger tea, or Beverly slipped a dirty Mad Libs under his door.

He was desperate for anything to take his mind off that uneasy, waiting-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop feeling. Because he knew it was coming. In the form of a second visit either from the police, or from the shadows—or both.

That morning, a PA announcement had informed them that the evening’s Social would be canceled out of respect for Todd’s passing, and that classes would be dismissed an hour early so the students could have time to change and arrive at the cemetery at three o’clock. As if the whole school weren’t already dressed for a funeral all the time.

Eddie had never seen so many people congregating in one place on the campus. Randy was parked at the center of the group in a calf-length pleated gray skirt and thick, rubber-soled black shoes. A misty-eyed Miss Sophia and a handkerchief-wielding Mr. Cole stood behind her in mourning clothes. Ms. Tross and Coach Diante stood in a black-clad cluster with a group of other faculty and administrators Eddie had never seen before.

The students were seated in rows. At the front, Eddie could see Joel Bland, the kid who’d won the swimming race last week, blowing his nose into a dirty handkerchief. Eddie was in a random row, but he could see Richie, annoyingly positioned right next to Ben, two rows ahead. Richie was dressed impeccably in a fitted black pinstriped blazer, but his head seemed to hang lower than everyone’s around him. Even from the back, Richie managed to look devastatingly somber.

Eddie thought about the white peonies Richie had brought him. Randy hadn’t let him take the vase with him when he left the infirmary, so Eddie had carried the flowers up to his room and gotten pretty inventive, cutting off the top of a plastic water bottle with a pair of nail scissors.

The blooms were fragrant and soothing, but the message they offered was unclear. Usually when a guy brought you flowers, you didn’t have to second-guess his feelings. But with Richie, those kinds of assumptions were always a bad idea. It was so much safer to assume Richie had brought them to him because that was what you did when someone went through a trauma.

But still: Richie had brought him flowers! If Eddie leaned forward now in his folding chair and looked up at the dorm, through the metal bars on the third window from the left, he could almost make them out.

“In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread,” a pay-by-the-hour minister warbled from the front of the crowd. “Till thou return unto the ground. For out of it wast thou taken, for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”

He was a thin man about seventy, lost in a big black jacket. His beat-up athletic shoes were fraying at the laces; his face was lumpy and sunburned. He spoke into a microphone attached to an old plastic boom box that looked like it was from the eighties. The sound that came out was staticky and distorted and hardly carried across the crowd.

Everything about this service was inadequate and completely wrong.

No one was paying Todd any respect by being here. The whole memorial seemed more like an attempt to teach the students how unfair life could be. That Todd’s body wasn’t even present said so much about the school’s relationship—or utter lack thereof—with the departed boy. None of them had known him; none of them ever would. There was something false about standing here today in this crowd, something made worse by the few people who were crying. It made Eddie feel like Todd was even more of a stranger to him than he actually had been.

Let Todd rest in peace. Let the rest of them just move on.

A white horned owl crooned in the high branch of the oak tree over their heads. Eddie knew there was a nest somewhere nearby with a clan of new baby owls. He’d been hearing the mother’s fearful chant each night this week, followed by the frantic beating of the father’s wings on the descent from his nightly hunt.

And then it was over. Eddie stood up from his chair, feeling weak with the unfairness of it all. Todd had been as innocent as Eddie was guilty, though of what Eddie didn’t know.

As he followed the other students in single file toward the so-called reception, an arm looped around his waist and pulled him back.

Richie?

But no, it was Bill.

His blue eyes searched Eddie’s and seemed to pick up his disappointment, which only made Eddie feel worse. He bit his lip to keep from dissolving into a sob. Seeing Bill shouldn’t make him cry—he was just so emotionally drained, teetering on the brink of collapse. He bit so hard he tasted blood, then wiped his mouth on his hand.

“Hey,” Bill said, smoothing the back of his hair. Eddie winced. He still had a bump back there from where he’d hit his head on the steps. “Do you want to go somewhere and talk?”

They’d been walking with the others across the grass toward the reception under the shade of one of the oak trees. A cluster of chairs had been set up practically one on top of the other. A nearby folding card table was strewn with stacks of stale-looking cookies, pulled from their generic boxes but still sitting in their inner plastic shells. A cheap plastic punch bowl had been filled with syrupy red liquid and had attracted several flies, the way a corpse might do. It was such a pathetic reception, few of the other students even bothered with it. Eddie spotted Penn in a black skirt suit, shaking hands with the minister. Richie was looking away from them all, whispering something to Ben.

When Eddie turned back to Bill, his finger dragged lightly across Eddie’s arm, then lingered at the base of his wrist. Eddie inhaled and felt goose bumps rise on his skin.

“If you don’t like the bracelet,” Bill said, leaning into him, “I can get you something else.”

Bill’s lips were so close to brushing his neck that Eddie pressed a hand to his shoulder and stepped back.

“I do like it,” he said, thinking of the box lying on his desk. It had ended up right next to Richie’s flowers, and he’d spent half the night before looking back and forth between them, weighing the gifts and intentions behind them. Bill was so much clearer, easier to figure out. Like he was algebra and Richie was calculus. And Eddie had always loved calculus, the way it sometimes took an hour to figure out a single proof.

“I think the bracelet is great,” he told Bill. “I just haven’t had a chance to wear it yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Bill said, pursing his lips. “I shouldn’t press you.”

His auburn hair was slicked back and showed more of his face than usual. It made him look older, more mature. And the way Bill looked at him was so intense, his big blue eyes probing into Eddie, like he approved of everything Eddie held inside.

“Miss Sophia kept saying to give you space these last couple of days. I know she’s right, you’ve been through so much. But you should know how much I thought about you. All the time. I wanted to see you.”

Bill stroked his cheek with the back of his hand and Eddie felt tears welling up. He had been through so much. And he felt terrible that here he was, about to cry, not over Todd—whose death did matter, and should have mattered more—but for selfish reasons. Because the past two days brought back too much past pain about Trevor and his life before Sword & Cross, things he thought he’d delt with and could never explain, not to anyone. More shadows to push away.

It was like Bill sensed this, or at least part of this, because he folded Eddie into his arms, pressed Eddie’s head against his strong, broad chest, and rocked him from side to side.

“It’s okay,” Bill said. “It’s going to be okay.”

And maybe Eddie didn’t have to explain anything to him. It was like the more deranged he felt inside, the more available Bill became. What if it was enough just to stand here in the arms of someone who cared about him, to let Bill’s simple affection steady him for a little while?

It felt so good just to be held.

Eddie didn’t know how to pull away from Bill. He had always been so nice. And Eddie did like him, and yet, for reasons that made him feel guilty, Bill was kind of beginning to annoy him. Bill was so perfect, and helpful, and exactly what he should have needed right now. It was just… he wasn’t Richie.

An angel food cupcake appeared over his shoulder. Eddie recognized the hand holding it. “There’s punch over there that needs drinking,” Ben said, handing Bill a cupcake, too. Bill glared at its frosted top. “You okay?” Ben asked Eddie.

Eddie nodded. For the first time, Ben had popped up exactly when Eddie wanted saving. They smiled at each other and Eddie raised his cupcake in thanks. He took a small, sweet bite.

“Punch sounds great,” Bill said through gritted teeth. “Why don’t you go get us a few glasses, Ben?”

Ben rolled his eyes at Eddie. “Do a man one favor and he’ll start treating you like a slave.”

Eddie laughed. Bill was a little out of line, but it was obvious to Eddie what he was trying to do.

“I’ll go get the drinks,” Eddie said, ready for a breath of air. He headed for the card table and the punch bowl. He was skimming a fly from the surface of the punch when someone whispered in his ear.

“You want to get out of here?”

Eddie turned around, ready to invent some excuse for Bill that no, he couldn’t duck out—not now, and not with him. But it wasn’t Bill who reached out and touched the base of his wrist with his thumb.

It was Richie.

Eddie melted a little. His Wednesday phone slot was in ten minutes and he desperately wanted to hear Callie’s voice, or his parent’s voices. To talk about something going on outside these wrought iron gates, other than the bleakness of his last two days.

But get out of here? With Richie? He found himself nodding.

Bill was going to hate him if he saw Eddie leave, and he would see. Bill would be watching him. Eddie could almost feel Bill’s blue eyes on the back of his head. But of course he had to go. He slipped his hand inside Richie’s. “Please.”

All the other times they’d touched, either it had been an accident, or one of them had jerked away—usually Richie—before the bolt of warmth Eddie always felt could evolve into a rising crescendo of heat. Not this time. Eddie looked down at Richie’s hand, holding fast to his, and Eddie’s whole body wanted more. More of the heat, more of the tingling, more of Richie. It was almost—not quite—as good as he’d felt in his dream. He could hardly feel his feet moving below him, just the flow of Richie’s touch taking over.

It was as if he only blinked, and they had ascended to the gates of the cemetery. Below them, far away, the rest of the memorial service wobbled out of focus as the two of them left it all behind.

Richie stopped suddenly and, without warning, dropped his hand. Eddie shivered, cold again.

“You and Bill,” Richie said, letting the words hang in the air like a question. “You spend a lot of time together?”

“Sounds like you’re not very fond of that idea,” Eddie said, feeling instantly stupid for playing coy. He’d only wanted to tease Richie for sounding a little jealous, but his face and his tone were so serious.

“He’s not—” Richie started to say. He watched a red-tailed hawk land in an oak tree over their heads. “He’s not good enough for you.”

Eddie had heard people say that line a thousand times before. It was what everyone always said. Not good enough. But when the words passed Richie’s lips, they sounded important, even somehow true and relevant, not vague and dismissive the way the phrase had always sounded to him in the past.

“Well, then,” Eddie said in a quiet voice, “who is?”

Richie put his hands on his hips. He laughed to himself for a long time. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “That’s a terrific question.”

Not exactly the answer Eddie was looking for. “It’s not like it’s that hard,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets because he wanted to reach out to Richie. “To be good enough for me.”

Richie’s eyes looked like they were falling, all the blue that had been in them a moment before turned a deep, dark gray. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, it is.”

Richie rubbed his forehead, and when he did, his hair flipped back for just a second. Long enough. Eddie saw the scab on his forehead. It was healing, but Eddie could tell that it was new.

“What happened to your forehead?” Eddie asked, reaching for him.

“I don’t know,” Richie snapped, pushing his hand away, hard enough that he stumbled back. “I don’t know where it came from.”

Richie seemed more unsettled by it than Eddie was, which surprised him. It was just a small scrape.

Footsteps on the gravel behind them. Both of them spun around.

“I told you, I haven’t seen him,” Stan was saying, shrugging off Bill’s hand as they ascended the graveyard’s hill.

“Let’s go,” Richie said, sensing everything Eddie felt—he was almost certain Richie could—even before Eddie shot him a nervous look.

Eddie knew where they were going as soon as he began to follow Richie. Behind the church-gymnasium and into the woods. Just like he’d expected Richie’s jump rope posture before he ever saw him working out. Just like he’d known about that cut before he saw it.

They walked at just the same pace, with steps just the same length. Their feet hit the grass at the same time, every time, until they reached the forest.

“If you come to a place more than once with the same person,” Richie said, almost to himself, “I guess it isn’t yours alone anymore.”

Eddie smiled, honored as he realized what Richie was saying: that he’d never been to the lake before with anyone else. Only Eddie.

As they trekked through the woods, Eddie felt the coolness of the shade beneath the trees on his shoulders. It smelled the same as ever, as most coastal Maine forests did: an okay mulch scent that Eddie used to associate with the shadows, but that he now connected to Richie. He shouldn’t feel safe anywhere after what had just happened to Todd, but next to Richie, Eddie felt like he was breathing easy for the first time in days.

Eddie had to believe Richie was bringing him back here because of the way he’d skipped out on him so suddenly the last time. Like they needed a second try to get it right. What had started out feeling like their first kind of almost-date had turned into Eddie feeling pitifully stood up. Richie must have known that and felt bad about his stormy exit.

They reached the magnolia tree that marked the lookout point on the lake. The sun left a golden trail on the water as it edged over the forest to the west. Everything looked so different in the evening. The whole world seemed to glow.

Richie leaned up against the tree and watched Eddie watch the water. Eddie moved to stand beside him under the waxy leaves and the flowers, which should have been dead and gone by this time of year, but looked as pure and fresh as spring blooms. Eddie breathed in the musky scent, and felt closer to Richie than he had any reason to—and loved that the feeling seemed to come from out of nowhere.

“We’re not exactly dressed for a swim this time,” Richie said, pointing at Eddie’s black suit.

Eddie fingered the delicate jacket hem at his waist, imagining his mom’s shock if he ruined a good suit because he and a boy wanted to dive into a lake. “Maybe we could just stick out feet in?”

Richie motioned toward the steep red rock path that led down to the water. They climbed over thick, tawny reeds and lake grass and used the twisted stumps of live oak trees to keep their balance. Here, the shore of the lake turned to pebbles. The water looked so still, Eddie felt he almost could have walked on it.

Eddie kicked off his black dress shoes and skimmed the lily-padded surface with his toes. The water was cooler than it had been the other day. Richie picked up a strand of lake grass and started braiding its thick stem.

Richie looked at him. “You ever think about getting out of here—”

“All the time,” Eddie said with a groan, assuming Richie meant that he did, too. Of course, Eddie wanted to get as far away from Sword & Cross as possible. Anyone would. But he tried at least to keep his mind from whirling out of control, toward fantasies of him and Richie plotting an escape.

“No,” Richie said, “I mean, have you really considered going somewhere else? Asking your parents for a transfer? It’s just… Sword & Cross doesn’t seem like the best fit for you.”

Eddie took a seat on a rock opposite of Richie and hugged his knees. If Richie was suggesting that he was a reject among a student body full of rejects, he couldn’t help feeling a little insulted.

Eddie cleared his throat. “I can’t afford the luxury of seriously considering someplace else. Sword & Cross is”—he paused— “pretty much a last-ditch effort for me.”

“Come on,” Richie said.

“You wouldn’t know—”

“I would.” He sighed. “There’s always another stop, Eddie.”

“That’s very prophetic, Richie,” he said. Eddie could feel his voice rising. “But if you’re so interested in getting rid of me, what are we doing? No one asked you to drag me out here with you.”

“No,” Richie said. “You’re right. I meant that you’re not like people here. There’s got to be a better place for you.”

Eddie’s heart was beating quickly, which it usually did around Richie. But this was different. This whole scene was making him sweat.

“When I came here,” Eddie said, “I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t tell anyone about my past, or what I’d done to land myself at this place.”

Richie dropped his head into his hands. “What I’m talking about has nothing to do with what happened with that guy—”

“You know about him?” Eddie’s face crumpled. No. How could Richie know? “Whatever Stan told you…”

But he knew it was too late. Richie had been the one to find him with Todd. If Stan had told him anything about how Eddie had also been implicated in another mysterious fiery death, Eddie couldn’t begin to imagine explaining it.

“Listen,” Richie said, gripping his hands. “What I’m saying, it has nothing to do with that part of your past.”

Eddie found that hard to believe. “Then does it have to do with Todd?”

Richie shook his head. “It has to do with this place. It has to do with things…”

Richie’s touch jostled something in Eddie’s mind. He started thinking about the wild shadows he’d seen that night. The way they’d changed so much since he’d arrived at this school—from a sneaky, unsettling threat to now almost-ubiquitous, full-blown terrors.

Eddie was crazy—that must be what Richie sensed about him. Maybe Richie thought he was pretty, but Eddie knew deep down he was seriously disturbed. That was why Richie wanted him to leave, so he wouldn’t be tempted to get involved with someone like him. If that was what Richie thought, he didn’t know the half of it.

“Maybe it has to do with the weird black shadows I saw the night Todd died?” Eddie said, hoping to shock him. But as soon as he’d said the words, he knew his intent was not to freak Richie out even more… it was to finally tell someone. It wasn’t like he had much more to lose.

“What did you say?” Richie asked slowly.

“Oh, you know,” Eddie said, shrugging now, trying to downplay what he’d just said. “Once a day or so, I get these visits from these dark things I call the shadows.”

“Don’t be cute,” Richie said curtly. And even though his tone stung, Eddie knew he was right. He hated how falsely nonchalant he sounded, when really he was all wound up. But should he tell Richie? Could he? Richie was nodding for him to go on. His eyes seemed to reach out and pull the words from inside Eddie.

“It’s gone on for the last twelve years,” he admitted finally, with a deep shudder. “It used to just be at night, when I was near water or trees, but now…” His hands were shaking. “It’s practically nonstop.”

“What do they do?”

Eddie would have thought Richie was just humoring him, or trying to get him to go on so he could crack a joke at Eddie’s expense, except Richie’s voice had gone hoarse and his face was drained of color.

“Usually, they start out by hovering right about here.” Eddie reached around to the back of Richie’s neck and tickled him to demonstrate. For once, Eddie wasn’t just trying to get physically close to him—this really was the only way he knew how to explain. Especially since the shadows had begun to infringe on his body in such a palpable, physical way.

Richie didn’t flinch, so he continued. “Then sometimes they get really bold,” he said, moving to his knees and placing his hands on Richie’s chest. “And they shove right up against me.” Now Eddie was right in his face. His lip quivered and he couldn’t believe he was actually opening up to anyone—let alone Richie—about the horrible things he saw. Eddie’s voice dropped to a whisper and he said, “Recently, they don’t seem satisfied until they’ve”—he swallowed—“taken someone’s life and knocked me flat on my back.”

He gave Richie’s shoulders the tiniest push, not intending to affect him at all, but the lightest touch of his fingertips was enough to knock Richie over.

His fall took Eddie so much by surprise, he accidentally lost his own balance and landed in a tangled heap on top of him. Richie was flat on his back, looking at Eddie with wide eyes.

Eddie should not have told him that. Here he was, on top of Richie, and he’d just divulged his deepest secret, the thing that really defined him as a lunatic.

How could Eddie want to kiss him so badly at a time like this?

His heart was pounding impossibly fast. Then Eddie realized: he was feeling both of their hearts, racing each other. A kind of desperate conversation, one they couldn’t have with words.

“You really see them?” Richie whispered.

“Yes,” he whispered, wanting to pick himself up and take it all back. And yet he was unable to move off Richie’s chest. Eddie tried to read his thoughts—what any normal person would think about an admission like his. “Let me guess,” Eddie said glumly. “Now you’re certain I need a transfer. To a psychiatric ward.”

Richie pushed himself out from under Eddie, leaving him lying practically face-first on the rock. His eyes moved up Richie’s feet, to his legs, to his torso, to his face. He was staring up at the forest.

“That’s never happened before,” Richie said.

Eddie got to his feet. It was humiliating, lying there alone. Plus, it was like Richie hadn’t even heard what he said.

“What’s never happened? Before what?”

Richie turned to him and cupped his cheeks in his hands. Eddie held his breath. Richie was so close. His lips were so close to his. Eddie gave his thigh a pinch to make sure this time he wasn’t dreaming. He was wide awake.

Then Richie almost forcibly pulled himself away. He stood before Eddie, breathing quickly, his arms stiff at his sides.

“Tell me again what you saw.”

Eddie turned away to face the lake. The clear blue water lapped softly at the bank, and he considered diving in. that was what Richie had done the last time things had gotten too intense for him. Why couldn’t Eddie to it, too?

“It may surprise you to know this,” he said. “But it’s no thrill for me to sit here and talk about how thoroughly insane I am.” Especially to you.

Richie didn’t answer, but Eddie could feel his eyes on him. When he finally got the courage to glance at Richie, he was giving him a strange, disturbing, mournful look—one in which his eyes turned down at the corners and their particular gray was the saddest thing Eddie had ever seen. He felt as if he let him down somehow. But this was his awful confession. Why should Richie be the one to look so shattered?

Richie stepped toward him and leaned down until his eyes were gazing directly into his. Eddie almost couldn’t take it. But he couldn’t make himself budge, either. Whatever happened to break this trance would have to be up to Richie—who was moving closer still, tilting his head toward Eddie’s and closing his eyes. His lips parted. Eddie’s breath caught in his throat.

He closed his eyes, too. He tilted his head toward Richie’s, too. He parted his lips, too.

And waited.

The kiss he had been dying for didn’t come. Eddie opened his eyes because nothing had happened, except for the rustling sound of a tree branch. Richie was gone. He sighed, crestfallen but not surprised.

What was strange was that he could almost see the path Richie had taken back through the forest. As if he were some kind of hunter who could pinpoint the rotation of a leaf and let it lead him back to Richie. Except he was nothing of the sort, and the kind of trail that Richie left in his wake was somehow bigger, clearer, and at the same time, even more elusive. It was as if a violet glow illuminated his path back through the forest.

Like the violet glow he’d seen during the library fire. He was seeing things. He steadied himself on the rock and looked away for a moment, rubbing his eyes. But when he looked back, it was just the same: In just one plane of his vision—as if he were looking through bifocals with a wild prescription—the live oaks, and the mulch beneath them, and even the songs of the birds in the branches—all of it seemed to wobble out of focus. And it didn’t just wobble, bathed in the faintest purple light, but seemed to emit a barely audible low-pitched hum.

Eddie spun back around, terrified to face it, terrified of what it meant. Something was happening to him, and he could tell no one about it. He tried to focus on the lake, but even it was growing darker and difficult to see.

He was alone. Richie had left him. And in his place, this path Eddie didn’t know how—or want—to navigate. When the sun sank behind the mountains and the lake became a charcoal gray, Eddie dared another glance back at the forest. He sucked in his breath, not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. It was a forest like any other, no quivering light or violet hum. No sign of Richie’s ever having been there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all liked this chapter. Let me know what you guys think about it or what theories you have in the comments.


	14. Touched At The Roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parents’ Day featuring some of the losers and their families!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

Eddie could hear his Converse sneakers beating hard against the pavement. He could feel the humid wind tugging on his black T-shirt. He could practically taste the hot tar from a freshly paved portion of the parking lot. But when he flung his arms around the two huddled creatures near the entrance to Sword & Cross on Saturday morning, all of that was forgotten.

He had never been so glad to hug his parents in his life.

For days, he’d been regretting how cold and distant things had been at the hospital, and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.

They both stumbled as he plowed into them. His mother started giggling and his dad thwacked his back in his tough-guy way with his palm. He had his enormous camera strapped around his neck. They straightened up and held their son at arm’s length. They seemed to want a good look at his face, but as soon as they got it, their own faces fell. Eddie was crying.

“Eddie, what’s the matter?” his father asked, resting his hand on Eddie’s head.

His mom fished through her giant blue pocketbook for her stash of tissues. Eyes wide, she dangled one in front of Eddie’s nose and asked, “We’re here now. Everything’s fine, isn’t it?”

No, everything was not fine.

“Why didn’t you take me home the other day?” Eddie asked, feeling angry and hurt all over again. “Why did you let them bring me back here?”

His father blanched. “Every time we spoke to the headmaster, he said you were doing great, back in classes, like the trouper we raised. A sore throat from the smoke and a little bump on the head. We thought that was all.” He licked his lips.

“Was there more?” his mom asked.

One look between his parents told that they’d had this fight already. Mom would have begged to visit again sooner. Eddie’s tough-love dad would have put his foot down.

There was no way to explain to them what had happened that night or what he’d been going through since then. He had gone straight back to classes, though not by his own choice. And physically, he was fine. It was just that in every other way—emotionally, psychologically, romantically—he couldn’t have felt more broken.

“We’re just trying to follow the rules,” Eddie’s father explained, moving his big hand to squeeze his neck. The weight of it shifted Eddie’s whole posture and made it uncomfortable to stand still, but it had been so long since he’d been this close to people he loved, he didn’t dare move away. “Because we only want what’s best for you,” his dad added. “We have to take it on faith that these people”—he gestured at the formidable buildings around campus, as if they represented Randy and Headmaster Udell and the rest of them—“that they know what they’re talking about.”

“They don’t,” Eddie said, glancing at the shoddy buildings and the empty commons. So far, nothing at this school made any sense to him.

Case in point, what they called Parents’ Day. They’d made such a big deal about how lucky the students were to get the privilege of seeing their own flesh and blood. And yet it was ten minutes until lunchtime and Eddie’s parents’ car was the only one in the parking lot.

“This place is an absolute joke,” he said, sounding cynical enough that his parents shared a troubled look.

“Eddie bear,” his mom said, stroking his hair. “We just want one nice day with you. Your father brought all your favorite foods.”

Sheepishly, his father held up a colorful patchwork quilt and a large briefcase-style contraption made of wicker that Eddie had never seen before. Usually when they picnicked, it was a much more casual affair, with paper grocery bags and an old ripped sheet thrown down on the grass by the canoe trail outside their house.

“Potato soup?” Eddie asked in a voice that sounded very much like little-kid Eddie. No one could say his parents weren’t trying.

His dad nodded. “And lemonade, and fruits with blueberries. Trail mix with extra peanuts, just the way you like it. Oh.” he said, “and one more thing.”

Eddie’s mom reached into her purse for a fat, sealed red envelope and held it out to Eddie. For the briefest moment, a pain gnawed at Eddie’s stomach when he thought back to the mail he was accustomed to receiving. Psycho Killer. Death Boy.

But when Eddie looked at the handwriting on the envelope, his face broke into an enormous grin.

Callie.

He tore into the envelope and pulled out a card with a black-and-white photograph on the front of two old ladies getting their hair done. Inside, every square inch of the card was filled with Callie’s large, bubbly handwriting. And there were several pieces of scrawled-on loose-leaf paper because she’d run out of room on the card.

Dear Eddie,

Since our phone time is now ridiculously insufficient (Can you please petition for some more? It’s downright unjust), I’m going to get all old-fashioned on you and take up epic letter writing. Enclosed you will find every single minuscule thing that happened to me over the past two weeks. Whether you like it or not…

Eddie clutched the envelope to his chest, still grinning, eager to devour the letter as soon as his parents headed home. Callie hadn’t given up on him. And his parents were sitting right beside him. It had been way too long since Eddie had felt this loved. He reached out and squeezed his father’s hand.

A blaring whistle made both his parents jump. “It’s just the lunch bell,” he explained; they seemed relieved. “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

As they walked from the hot, hazy parking lot toward the commons where the opening events of Parents’ Day were being held, Eddie started to see the campus through his parents’ eyes. He noticed anew the sagging roof of the main office, and the sickly, overripe odor of the rotting peach grove next to the gym. They way the wrought iron of the cemetery gates was overcome with orangey rust. He realized that in only a couple of weeks, he’d grown completely accustomed to Sword & Cross’s many eyesores.

His parents looked mostly horrified. His father gestured at a dying grapevine winding its decrepit way around the splintering fence at the entrance to the commons.

“Those are chardonnay grapes,” he said, wincing because when a plant felt pain, so did he.

His mother was using two hands to grip her pocketbook to her chest, with both elbows sticking out—the stance she took when she found herself in a neighborhood where she thought she might be mugged. And they hadn’t even seen the reds yet. His parents, who were adamantly against little things like Eddie getting a webcam, would hate the idea of constant surveillance at his school.

Eddie wanted to protect them from all the atrocities of Sword & Cross, because he was figuring out how to manage—and sometimes even beat—the system here. Just the other day, Beverly had taken him through an obstacle course-like sprint across the campus to point out all the “dead reds” whose batteries had died or been slyly “replaced,” effectively creating the blind spots of the school. His parents didn’t need to know about all that; they just needed to have a good day with her.

Penn was swinging her legs from the bleachers, where she and Eddie had promised to meet at noon. She was holding a potted mum.

“Penn, these are my parents, Frank and Sonia Kaspbrak,” Eddie said, gesturing. “Mom and Dad, this is—”

“Pennyweather Van Syckle-Lockwood,” Penn said formally, extending the mum with both hands. “Thank you for letting me join you for lunch.”

Ever polite, Eddie’s parents cooed and smiled, not asking any questions about Penn’s own family’s where-abouts, which Eddie hadn’t had the time to explain.

It was another warm, clear day. The acid-green willow trees in front of the library swayed gently in the breeze, and Eddie steered his parents to a position where the willows obscured most of the soot stains and the windows broken by the fire. As they spread out the quilt on a dry patch of grass, Eddie pulled Penn aside.

“How are you?” Eddie asked, knowing that if he’d been the one who had to sit through a whole day honoring everyone’s parents but his, he would have needed a major pick-me-up.

To his surprise, Penn’s head bobbed happily. “This is already so much better than last year!” she said. “And it’s all because of you. I wouldn’t have anyone today if you hadn’t come along.”

The compliment took Eddie by surprise and made him look around the quad to see how everyone else was handling the event. Despite the still half-empty parking lot, Parents’ Day seemed to be slowly filling up.

Stan sat on a blanket nearby, between a pug-faced man and woman, gnawing hungrily on a turkey leg. Beverly was crouched on a bleacher, whispering to an older girl with hypnotizing red hair. Most likely her big sister. The two of them caught Eddie’s eye and Beverly grinned and waved, then turned to the other girl to whisper something.

Mike had a huge party of people setting up a picnic lunch on a large bedspread. They were laughing and joking, and a few younger kids were throwing food at each other. They seemed to be having a great time until a corn-on-the-cob grenade went flying and almost blind-sided Ben, who was walking across the commons. He scowled at Mike as he guided a man who looked old enough to be his grandfather, patting his elbow as they walked toward a row of lawn chairs set up around the open field.

Richie and Bill were noticeably missing—and Eddie couldn’t picture what either of their families would look like. As angry and embarrassed as he’d been after Richie bailed on him for the second time at the lake, he was still dying to catch a glimpse of anyone related to Richie. But then, thinking back to Richie’s thin file in the archive room, Eddie wondered whether he even kept in touch with anyone from his family.

Eddie’s mother doled trail mix onto four plates, and his father topped the mounds with freshly chopped peanuts. After one bite, Eddie’s mouth was in heaven, just the way he like it. Penn seemed unfamiliar with the typical Maine fare Eddie had grown up with. She looked particularly terrified by the potato soup, but as soon as she took a bite, she gave Eddie a surprised smile of approval.

Eddie’s mom and dad had brought with them every single one of Eddie’s favorite foods, even the whoopie pies from the family drugstore down the block. His parents chomped happily on either side of him, seeming glad to fill their mouths with something other than talk of death.

Eddie should have been enjoying his time with them, and washing it all down with his lemonade, but he felt like an imposter son for pretending this elysian lunch was normal for Sword & Cross. The whole day was such a sham.

At the sound of a short, feeble round of applause, Eddie looked over at the bleachers, where Randy stood next to Headmaster Udell, a man whom Eddie had never seen in the flesh before. He recognized him from the unusually dim portrait that hung in the main lobby of the school, but he saw now that the artist had been generous. Penn had already told him that the headmaster showed up on campus only one day of the year—Parents’ Day—with no exceptions. Otherwise, he was a recluse who didn’t leave his mansion, not even when a student at his school passed away. The man’s jowls were swallowing his chin and his bovine eyes stared out into the crowd, not seeming to focus on anything.

At his side Randy stood, legs akimbo in white stockings. She had a lipless smile plastered across her face, and the headmaster was blotting his big forehead with a napkin. Both had their game faces on today, but it seemed to be taking a lot out of them.

“Welcome to Sword & Cross’s one-hundred-and-fifty-ninth annual Parents’ Day,” Headmaster Udell said into a microphone.

“Is he kidding?” Eddie whispered to Penn. Is was hard to imagine Parents’ Day during the antebellum period.

Penn rolled her eyes. “Surely a typo. I’ve told them to get him new reading glasses.”

“We have a long and fun-filled day of family time scheduled for you, beginning with this leisurely picnic lunch—”

“Usually we only get nineteen minutes,” Penn interrupted in an aside to Eddie’s parents, who stiffened.

Eddie smiled over Penn’s head and mouthed, “She’s kidding.”

“Next you’ll have your choice of activities. Our very own biologist, Ms. Yolanda Tross, will deliver a fascinating lecture in the library on the local Derry flower found on campus. Coach Diante will supervise a series of family-friendly races out here on the lawn. And Mr. Steven Cole will offer a historical guided tour of our prized heroes’ cemetery. It’s going to be a very busy day. And yes,” Headmaster Udell said with a cheesy, toothy grin, “you will be tested on this.”

It was just the right kind of bland and hackneyed joke to earn some canned laughter out of the bunch of visiting family members. Eddie rolled his eyes at Penn. This depressing attempt at good-natured chuckling made it all too clear that everyone was here in order to feel better about leaving their children in the hands of the Sword & Cross faculty. The Kaspbraks laughed, too, but kept looking at Eddie for more cues on how to handle themselves.

After lunch, the other families around the commons packed up their picnics and retreated to various corners. Eddie got the feeling that very few people were actually participating in the school-sanctioned events. No one had followed Ms. Tross up to the library, and so far only Ben and his grandfather had climbed into a potato sack at the other end of the field.

Eddie didn’t know where Stan or Beverly or Mike had sneaked off to with their families, and he still hadn’t seen Richie. He did know that his own parents would be disappointed if they saw nothing of the campus and didn’t participate in any planned events. Since Mr. Cole’s guided tour seemed like the least of the evils, Eddie suggested they pack up their leftovers and join him by the cemetery gates.

As they were on the way over, Beverly swung herself off the top bleacher like a gymnast dismounting a parallel bar. She stuck her landing right in front of Eddie’s parents.

“Helloooo,” she crooned, doing her best crazy-girl impression.

“Mom and Dad,” Eddie said, squeezing their shoulders, “this is my good friend Beverly.”

“And this”—Beverly pointed at the tall, red-headed girl who was slowly picking her way down the bleacher stairs, “is my sister, Annabelle.”

Annabelle ignored Eddie’s extended hand and swept him into her arms for an extended, intimate hug. Eddie could feel their bones crunching together. The intense hug lasted long enough for Eddie to wonder what was up with it, but just as he was starting to feel uncomfortable, Annabelle let him go.

“It’s so good to meet you,” she said, taking Eddie’s hand.

“Likewise,” Eddie said, giving Beverly a sideways glance.

“Are you two going on Mr. Cole’s tour?” Eddie asked Beverly, who was also looking at Annabelle as if she were crazy.

Annabelle opened her mouth, but Beverly quickly cut her off. “Hell no,” she said. “These activities are for absolute lame-o’s.” She glanced at Eddie’s parents. “No offense.”

Annabelle shrugged. “Maybe we’ll have a chance to catch up later!” she called to Eddie before Beverly tugged her away.

“They seemed nice,” Eddie’s mother said in the probing voice she used when she wanted Eddie to explain something.

“Um, why was that girl so into you?” Penn asked.

Eddie looked at Penn, then at his parents. Did he really have to defend, in front of them, the fact that someone might like him?

“Edward!” Mr. Cole called, waving from the otherwise unoccupied meet-up point by the cemetery gates. “Over here!”

Mr. Cole clasped both his parents’ hands warmly and even gave Penn’s shoulders a squeeze. Eddie was trying to decide whether he should be more annoyed by Mr. Cole’s participation in Parents’ Day or impressed by his fake show of enthusiasm. But then he began speaking and surprised Eddie.

“I practice for this day all year,” he whispered. “A chance to take the students out in the fresh air and explain the many marvels of this place—oh, I do love it. It’s the closest a reform school teacher gets to a real field trip. ‘Course, no one’s ever shown up for my tours in years past, which makes you my inaugural tour—”

“Well, we’re honored,” Eddie’s dad boomed, giving Mr. Cole a big smile. Immediately, Eddie could tell it wasn’t just Dad’s cannon-hungry Civil War buff side speaking. He clearly felt that Mr. Cole was legit. And his father was the best judge of character he knew.

Already the two men had started trooping down the steep slope at he entrance of the cemetery. Eddie’s mom left the picnic basket at the gates and gave Eddie and Penn one of her well-worn smiles.

Mr. Cole waved a hand to get their attention. “First, a bit of trivia. What”—he raised his eyebrows— “would you guess is the oldest element of this cemetery?”

While Eddie and Penn looked down at their feet—avoiding his eyes as they did during class—Eddie’s father stood on his toes to take a gander at some of the larger statues.

“Trick question!” Mr. Cole bellowed, patting the ornate wrought iron gate. “This front portion of the gates was built by the original proprietor in 1831. They say his wife, Ellamena, had a lovely garden, and she wanted something to keep the guinea hens out of her tomatoes.” He laughed under his breath. “That was before the war. And before the sinkhole. Moving on!”

As they walked, Mr. Cole rattled off fact after fact about the construction of the cemetery, the historical backdrop against which it was built, and the “artist”—even he used the term loosely—who’d come up with the winged beast sculpture at the top of the monolith in the center of the grounds. Eddie’s mom ran her hands over the tops of some of the prettiest headstones, letting out a murmured “Oh my” every time she paused to read an inscription. Penn shuffled after Eddie’s mother, possibly wishing she’d latched on to a different family for the day. And Eddie brought up the rear, considering what might happen if he were to give his parents his own personal tour of the cemetery.

Here’s where I served my first detention…

And here’s where a falling marble angel nearby decapitated me…

And here’s where a reform school boy you’d never approve of took me on the strangest picnic of my life.

“Bill,” Mr. Cole called as he led the tour around the monolith.

Bill was standing with a tall, dark-haired man in a tailored black business suit. Neither of them heard Mr. Cole or saw the party he was leading on the tour. They were talking quietly and gesturing in a very involved manner at the oak tree, the way Eddie had seen his drama teacher gesture when the students were blocking a scene in a play.

“Are you and your father late arrivals to our tour?” Mr. Cole asked Bill, this time more loudly. “You’ve missed most of it, but there’s still an interesting fact or two I’m sure I could impart.”

Bill slowly turned his head their way, then back at his companion, who seemed amused. Eddie didn’t think the man, with his classic tall, dark, and handsome good looks and huge gold watch, looked old enough to be Bill’s father. But maybe he had just aged well. Bill’s eyes skimmed Eddie’s bare wrist, and he seemed briefly disappointed. Eddie blushed, because he could feel his mother taking in the whole scene and wondering just what was going on.

Bill ignored Mr. Cole and approached Eddie’s mother, drawing her hand to his lips before anyone could even introduce them. “You must be Eddie’s older sister,” he said rakishly.

To his left, Penn gagged into her elbow and whispered so only Eddie could hear, “Please tell me someone else is nauseated.”

But Eddie’s mom seemed somewhat dazzled, in a way that made Eddie—and his father, clearly—uncomfortable.

“No, we can’t stay for the tour,” Bill announced, winking at Eddie and drawing back just as Eddie’s father approached. “But it was so lovely”—he glanced at each of the three of them, excluding only Penn— “to encounter you here. Let’s go, Dad.”

“Who was that?” Eddie’s mother whispered when Bill and his father, or whoever he had been, disappeared back up the side of the cemetery.

“Oh, just one of Eddie’s admirers,” Penn said, trying to lighten the mood and doing exactly the opposite.

“One of?” Eddie’s father peered down at Penn.

In the late-afternoon light, Eddie could see for the first time a few gray whiskers in his dad’s beard. He didn’t want to spend today’s last moments convincing his father not to worry about the boys at his reform school.

“It’s nothing, Dad. Penn’s kidding.”

“We want you to be careful, Edward,” he said.

Eddie thought about what Richie had suggested—quite strongly—the other day. That maybe he shouldn’t be at Sword & Cross at all. And suddenly he wanted so badly to bring it up to his parents, to beg and plead for them to take him far away from here.

But it was that same memory of Richie that made Eddie hold his tongue. The thrilling touch of Richie’s skin on his when he’d pushed him down at the lake, the way Richie’s eyes were sometimes the saddest things he knew. It felt at once absolutely crazy and absolutely true that it might be worth all of this hell at Sword & Cross just to spend a little more time with Richie. Just to see if anything might come of it.

“I hate goodbyes,” Eddie’s mother breathed, interrupting her son’s thoughts to draw him in for a brisk hug. Eddie looked down at her watch and his face fell. He didn’t know how the afternoon had gone by so quickly, how it could already be time for them to go.

“You’ll call us on Wednesday?” his dad asked, kissing both his cheeks the way the French side of his family always did.

As they all walked back up toward the parking lot, Eddie’s parents gripped his hands. Each of them gave him another strong hug and a series of kisses. When they shook Penn’s hand and wished her well, Eddie saw a video camera clamped to the brick post housing a broken call box at the exit. There must have been a motion detector attached to the reds, because the camera was panning, following their movement. This one hadn’t been on Beverly’s tour and was certainly not a dead red. Eddie’s parents noticed nothing—and maybe it was better that way.

Then they were walking away, looking back twice to wave at the two students standing at the entrance to the main lobby. Dad cranked up his old black Chrysler New Yorker and rolled down the window.

“We love you,” he called out so loudly that Eddie would have been embarrassed if he hadn’t been so sad to see them go.

Eddie waved back. “Thank you,” he whispered. For the pies and the soup. For spending all day here. For taking Penn under your wing, no questions asked. For still loving me despite the fact that I scare you.

When the taillights disappeared around the bend, Penn tapped Eddie’s back. “I was thinking I’d go see my dad.” She kicked the ground with the toe of her boot and looked bashfully up at Eddie. “Any chance you’d want to come? If not, I understand, seeing as it involves another trip inside—” She jerked her thumb back toward the depths of the cemetery.

“Of course I’ll come,” Eddie said.

They walked around the perimeter of the cemetery, staying high on the rim until they’d reached the far east corner, where Penn paused in front of a grave.

It was modest, white, and covered with a tawny layer of pine needles. Penn got down on her knees and started to wipe it clean.

STANFORD LOCKWOOD, the simple tombstone read, WORLD’S BEST FATHER.

Eddie could hear Penn’s poignant voice behind the inscription, and he felt tears spring to his eyes. He didn’t want Penn to see—after all, Eddie still had his parents. If anyone should cry right now, it should be… Penn was crying. She was trying to hide it with the mildest of sniffles and a few tears wiped on the ragged hem of her sweater. Eddie got down on his knees, too, and started helping her brush the needles away. He put his arms around his friend and held on as tight as he could.

When Penn drew back and thanked Eddie, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a letter.

“I usually write him something,” she explained.

Eddie wanted to give Penn a moment alone with her dad, so he got up, took a step back, and turned away, heading down the slope toward the heart of the cemetery. His eyes were still a little glassy, but he thought he could see someone sitting alone on top of the monolith. Yes. A guy with his arms wrapped around his knees. Eddie couldn’t imagine how he’d gotten up there, but there he was.

He looked stiff and lonely, as if he’d been there all day. He didn’t see Eddie or Penn. He didn’t seem to see anything. But Eddie didn’t have to be close enough to see those blue-gray eyes to know who it was.

All this time Eddie had been searching for explanations about why Richie’s file was so sparse, what secrets his ancestor’s missing book held in the library, where his mind had traveled to that day Eddie had asked about his family. Why he’d been so hot and cold with Eddie… always.

After such an emotional day with his own parents, the thought nearly brought Eddie to his knees with sadness. Richie was alone in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated sooner than I thought. The next chapter is longer so it will take a little longer for the next update. So, enjoy this chapter while you wait!


	15. Idle Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parallel to the Richie and Bill fight from It 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

It rained all day on Tuesday. Pitch-black clouds rolled in from the west and churned over the campus, doing nothing to help clear Eddie’s mind. The downpour came in uneven waves—drizzling, then pouring, then hailing—before it tapered off to start all over again. The students hadn’t even been allowed to go outside during breaks, and by the end of his calculus class, Eddie was going stir-crazy.

He realized this when his notes began to veer away from the mean theorem and started looking more like this:

September 15: Introductory flip-off from R

September 16: Statue toppling, hand on head to protect me (alternately: just him groping for a way out); R’s immediate exit

September 17: Potential misreading of R’s head bob as suggestion that I attend Cam’s party. Disturbing discovering of R and B’s relationship (mistake?)

Spelled out like that, it was the beginning of a pretty embarrassing catalog. Richie was just so hot and cold. It was possible Richie felt the same way about him—though, if pressed, Eddie would insist that any weirdness on his part was only in response to utter weirdness on Richie’s part.

No. This was precisely the kind of circular argument he did not want to engage in. Eddie didn’t want to play any games. He just wanted to be with Richie. Only, he had no idea why. Or how to go about it. Or really, what being with Richie would even mean. All he knew was that, despite everything, Richie was the one he thought about. The one he cared about.

Eddie had thought if he could track every time they’d connected and every time Richie had pulled away, he might be able to find some reason behind Richie’s erratic behavior. But his list so far was only making him depressed. He crumpled the page into a ball.

When the bell finally rang to dismiss them for the day, Eddie hurried out of the classroom. Usually he waited to walk with either Beverly or Penn, dreading the moment they parted ways, because then Eddie would be alone with his thoughts. But today, for a change, he didn’t feel like seeing anyone. He was looking forward to some Eddie time. He had only one sure idea about how to take his mind off Richie: a long, hard, solitary swim.

While the other students started trucking back toward their dorm rooms, Eddie pulled up the hood of his black sweater and darted into the rain, eager to get to the natatorium.

As he bounded down the steps of Augustine, he plowed straight into something strong and auburn. Bill. When Eddie jostled him, a tower of books teetered in his arms, then tumbled to the wet pavement with a series of thuds. Bill had his own black hood pulled over his head and his earbuds blaring in his ears. He probably hadn’t seen Eddie coming, either. They’d both been in their own worlds.

“Are you okay?” Bill asked, putting a hand on Eddie’s back.

“I’m fine,” Eddie said. He’d barely stumbled. It was Bill’s books that had take the spill.

“Well, now that we’ve knocked over one another’s books, isn’t the next step for our hands to accidentally touch while we’re picking them up?”

Eddie laughed. When he handed Bill one of the books, he held on to Eddie’s hand and squeezed it. The rain had soaked his auburn hair, and big drops gathered in his long, thick eyelashes. He looked really good.

“How do you say ‘embarrassed’ in French?” Bill asked.

“Um… gêné,” Eddie started to say, feeling suddenly a little gênée himself. Bill was still holding on to his hand. “Wait, aren’t you the one who got an A on the French quiz yesterday?” 

“You noticed?” Bill asked. His voice sounded strange.

“Bill,” he said, “is everything okay?”

Bill leaned toward him and brushed a drop of water Eddie had felt running down the bridge of his nose. The single touch of Bill’s forefinger made him shiver, and suddenly he couldn’t help thinking about how wonderful and warm it might feel if Bill folded him into his arms the way he’d done at Todd’s memorial.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Bill said. “Wanting to see you. I waited for you at the memorial, but someone told me you left.”

Eddie got the feeling Bill knew whom he’d left with. And that Bill wanted Eddie to know he knew.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, having to shout to be heard over a clap of thunder. By now they were both soaked from the streaming downpour.

“Come on, let’s get out of this rain.” Bill tugged him back toward the covered entrance to Augustine.

Eddie looked over his shoulder toward the gym and wanted to be there, not here or anywhere else with Bill. At least, not right now. His head was brimming with too many confusing impulses, and he needed time and space away—from everyone—to sort them out.

“I can’t,” Eddie said.

“How about later? How about tonight?”

“Sure, later, okay.”

Bill beamed. “I’ll come by your room.”

He surprised Eddie by pulling him in to him, just for the briefest moment, and kissing Eddie gently on the forehead. Eddie felt instantly soothed, almost like he’d been given a shot of something. And before he had a chance to feel anything more, Bill had released him and was walking quickly back down toward the dorm.

Eddie shook his head and splashed slowly toward the gym. Clearly he had more to sort out than just Richie.

There was a chance it might be good, fun even, to spend some time with Bill later tonight. If the rain let up, Bill would probably take him to some secret part of the campus and be all charismatic and gorgeous in that unnervingly still manner of his. Bill would make him feel special. Eddie smiled.

Since Eddie had last set foot in Our Lady of Fitness (as Beverly had christened the gym), the school’s maintenance staff had begun to fight the kudzu. They had stripped the green blanket away from much of the building’s façade, but they were only half finished, and green vines dangled like tentacles across the doors. Eddie had to duck under a few long tendrils just so he could get inside.

The gym was empty, and pin-drop quiet compared to the thunderstorm outside. Most of the lights were off. He hadn’t asked if he was allowed to use the gym after hours, but the door was unlocked, and, well, no one was there to stop him.

In the dim hallway, he passed the old Latin scrolls in the glass cases, and the miniature marble reproduction of the pietà. He paused in front of the door to the weight room, where he’d happened upon Richie jumping rope. Sigh. That’d be a great addition to his catalog:

September 18: R accuses me of stalking him. Followed two days later by:

September 20: Penn convinces me to really begin stalking him. I consent.

Ugh. He was in a black hole of self-loathing. And yet he couldn’t stop himself. In the middle of the hallway, he froze. All at once he understood why this whole day he’d felt even more consumed by Richie than usual, and also even more conflicted about Bill. He’d dreamed about them both last night.

He’d been wandering through a dusty fog, someone holding his hand. He’d turned, thinking it would be Richie. But while the lips he pressed against were comforting and tender, they weren’t Richie’s. They were Bill’s. He gave Eddie innumerable soft kisses, and every time Eddie peeked at him, his stormy blue eyes were open, too, boring into Eddie, questioning him about something he couldn’t answer.

Then Bill was gone, and the fog was gone, and Eddie was wrapped tightly in Richie’s arms, right where he wanted to be. He dipped Eddie low and kissed him fiercely, as if he were angry, and each time his lips left Eddie’s, even just for half a second, the most parching thirst ran through him, making him cry out. This time, Eddie knew they were wings, and he let them wrap around his body like a blanket. He wanted to touch them, to fold them around him and Richie completely, but soon the brush of velvet was receding, folding back on itself. Richie stopped kissing him, watched his face, waited for a reaction. Eddie didn’t understand the strange hot fear growing in the pit of his stomach. But there it was, making him uncomfortably warm, then blistering hot—until he could stand it no longer. That was when he jolted awake: In the dream’s last moment, Eddie himself had seared and splintered—then had been obliterated into ash.

He’d woken up soaked with sweat—his hair, his pillow, his pajamas all wet and suddenly making him so, so cold. He’d lain there shivering and alone until the morning’s first light.

Eddie rubbed his rain-soaked sleeves to warm up. Of course. The dream had left him with a fire in his heart and a chill in his bones he’d been unable to reconcile all day. Which was why he’d come here for a swim, to try to work it out of his system.

This time, his black bathing suit actually fit, and he’d remembered to bring a pair of goggles. He pushed open the door to the pool and stood under the high-dive platform alone, breathing in the humid air with its dull tang of chlorine. Without the distraction of the other students, or the trill of Coach Diante’s whistle, Eddie could feel the presence of something else in the church. Something almost holy. Maybe it was only that the natatorium was such a gorgeous room, even with the rain pelting in through the cracked stained-glass windows. Even with none of the candles lit in the red side altars. Eddie tried to imagine what the place had looked like before the pool had replaced the pews, and he smiled. He liked the idea of swimming under all those praying heads.

He lowered his goggles and leaped in. The water was warm, much warmer than the rain outside, and the crash of thunder outside sounded harmless and far away when he ducked his head underwater.

He pushed off and began a slow warm-up crawl stroke.

His body quickly loosened up, and a few laps later, Eddie increased his speed and began the butterfly. He could feel the burn in his limbs, and he pushed through it. This was exactly the feeling he was after. Totally in the zone.

If he could just talk to Richie. Really talk, without him interrupting or telling Eddie to transfer schools or ducking out before Eddie could get to his point. That might help. It also might require tying Richie up and taping his mouth shut just so he’d listen to Eddie.

But what would Eddie even say? All he had to go on was this feeling he got around Richie, which, if he thought about it, had nothing to do with any of their interactions.

What if he could get Richie back to the lake? He was the one who’d implied it had become their place. This time, Eddie could lead him there, and he’d be super-careful not to bring up anything that seemed to freak him out—

It wasn’t working.

Crap. Eddie was doing it again. He was supposed to be swimming. Just swimming. He’d swim until he was too tired to think about anything else, especially Richie. He’d swim until—

“Eddie!”

Until he was interrupted. By Penn, who was standing at the side of the pool.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asked, spitting water.

“What are you doing here?” Penn returned. “Since when do you exercise willingly? I don’t like this new side of you.”

“How did you find me?” Eddie didn’t realize until he’d said it that his words might have sounded rude, like he was trying to avoid Penn.

“Bill told me,” Penn said. “We had a whole conversation. It was weird. He wanted to know if you were all right.”

“That is weird,” Eddie agreed.

“No,” Penn said, “what was weird was that he approached me and we had a whole conversation. Mr. Popularity… and me. Need I spell out my surprise any further? Thing is, he was actually really nice.”

“Well, he is nice.” Eddie pulled his goggles off his head.

“To you,” Penn said. “He’s so nice to you that he snuck out of school to buy you that bracelet—which you never wear.”

“I wore it once,” Eddie said. Which was true. Five nights before, after the second time Richie left him stranded at the lake, alone with his path lit up in the forest. Eddie hadn’t been able to shake the image of it and hadn’t been able to sleep. So he’d tried on the bracelet. He’d fallen asleep clutching it near his wrist, and woken up with it hot in his hand.

Penn was waving three fingers at Eddie, as if to say, Hello? And your point is…?

“My point is,” Eddie said finally, “I’m not so superficial that all I’m looking for is a guy who buys me things.”

“Not so superficial, eh?” Penn asked. “Then I dare you to make a non-superficial list of why you’re so into Richie. Which means no He’s got the loveliest little gray eyes or Ooh, the way his muscles ripple in the sunlight.”

Eddie had to crack up at Penn’s high falsetto and the way she held her hands clasped to her heart. “He just gets me,” he said, avoiding Penn’s eyes. “I can’t explain it.” 

“He gets that you deserve to be ignored?” Penn shook her head.

Eddie had never told Penn about the times he’d spent alone with Richie, the times when he’d seen a flash that Richie cared about him, too. So Penn couldn’t really understand his feelings. And they were far too private and too complicated to explain.

Penn crouched down in front of Eddie. “Look, the reason I came to find you in the first place was to drag you to the library for a Richie-related mission.”

“You found the book?”

“Not exactly,” Penn said, extending a hand to help Eddie out of the pool. “Mr. Tozier’s masterpiece is still mysteriously missing, but I kind of sort of maybe hacked Miss Sophia’s subscribers-only literary search engine, and a couple of things turned up. I thought you might find them interesting.”

“Thanks,” Eddie said, hoisting himself out with Penn’s help. “I’ll try not to be too annoyingly gushy over Richie.”

“Whatever,” Penn said. “Just hurry up and dry off. We’re in a brief no-rain window outside and I don’t have an umbrella.”

***

Mostly dry and back in his school uniform, Eddie followed Penn to the library. Part of the front portion had been blocked off by yellow police tape, so they had to slip through the narrow space between the card catalog and the reference section. It still smelled like a bonfire, and now, thanks to the sprinklers and the rain, possessed an added mildew quality.

Eddie took his first look at where Miss Sophia’s desk had sat, now a charred, nearly perfect circle on the old tile floor in the library’s center. Everything in a fifteen-foot radius had been removed. Everything beyond that was strangely undamaged.

The librarian wasn’t at her station, but a folding card table had been set up for her next to the burned spot. The table was depressingly bare, save for a new lamp, a pencil jar, and a gray pad of sticky notes.

Eddie and Penn gave each other a that-sucks grimace before they continued to the computer stations at the back. When they passed the study section where they’d last seen Todd, Eddie glanced over at his friend. Penn kept her face forward, but when Eddie reached over and squeezed her hand, Penn squeezed back pretty hard.

They pulled two chairs up to one computer terminal, and Penn typed in her username. Eddie glanced around just to make sure no one else was nearby.

A red error box popped up on the screen.

Penn groaned.

“What?” Eddie asked.

“After four, you need special permission to access the Web.”

“That’s why this place is always so empty at night.”

Penn was rooting through her backpack. “Where did I put that encrypted password?” she mumbled.

“There’s Miss Sophia,” Eddie said, flagging down the librarian, who was crossing the aisle in a black fitted blouse and bright green cropped pants. Her shimmery earrings dusted her shoulders, and she had a pencil poked into the side of her hair. “Over here,” Eddie whispered loudly.

Miss Sophia squinted at them. Her bifocals had slipped down her nose, and with a stack of books under each arm, she didn’t have a free hand to push them up. “Who’s that?” she called, walking over.

“Oh, Edward. Pennyweather,” she said, sounding tired. “Hello.”

“We were wondering if you could give us the password to use the computer,” Eddie asked, pointing at the error message on the screen.

“You’re not doing social networking, are you? Those sites are the devil’s work.”

“No, no, this is serious research,” Penn said. “You’d approve.”

Miss Sophia leaned over the students to unlock the computer. Fingers flying, she typed in the longest password Eddie had ever seen. “You have twenty minutes,” she said flatly, walking away.

“That should be enough,” Penn whispered. “I found a critical essay on the Watchers, so until we track down the book, we can at least read up on what it’s about.”

Eddie sensed someone standing behind him and turned around to see that Miss Sophia had returned. Eddie jumped. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know why you scared me.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” Miss Sophia said. Her smile practically made her eyes disappear. “It’s just been so hard recently, since the fire. But there’s no reason for me to take my sorrow out on two of my most promising students.”

Neither Eddie nor Penn really knew what to say. It was one thing to comfort each other after the fire. Reassuring the school librarian seemed a little bit out of their league.

“I’ve been trying to keep busy, but…” Miss Sophia trailed off.

Penn glanced nervously at Eddie. “Well, we might be able to use some help with our research, if, that is, you—”

“I can help!” Miss Sophia tugged over a third chair. “I see you’re looking into the Watchers,” she said, reading over their shoulders. “The Toziers were a very influential clan. And I just happen to know of a papal database. Let me see what I can pull up.”

Eddie nearly choked on the pencil he’d been chewing. “I’m sorry, did you say Toziers?”

“Oh yes, historians have traced them back to the Middle Ages. They were…” She paused, searching for the words. “A sort of research cluster, to put it in modern layperson’s terms. They specialized in a certain type of fallen-angel folklore.”

She reached between the students again and Eddie marveled as her fingers raced across the keyboard. The search engine struggled to keep up, pulling up article after article, primary source after primary source, all on the Toziers. Richie’s family name was everywhere, filling up the screen. Eddie felt a bit light-headed.

The image from his dream came back to him: unfurling wings, his body heating up until he smoldered into ash.

“There are different kinds of angels to specialize in?” Penn asked.

“Oh, sure—it’s a wide body of literature,” Miss Sophia said while she typed. “There are those who became demons. And those who threw in with God. And there are even ones who consorted with mortal men.” At last her fingers were still. “Very dangerous habit.”

Penn said, “Are these Watcher dudes any relation to the Richie Tozier here?”

Miss Sophia tapped her mauve lips. “Quite possible. I wondered that myself, but it is hardly our place to be digging into another student’s business, wouldn’t you agree?” Her pale face pinched into a frown as she looked down at her watch. “Well, I hope I’ve given you enough to get started on your project. I won’t hog any more of your time.” She pointed at a clock on the computer screen. “You’ve only got nine minutes left.”

As she walked back toward the front of the library, Eddie watched Miss Sophia’s perfect posture. She could have balanced a book on her head. It did seem like it had cheered her up a little to help them with their research, but at the same time, Eddie had no idea what to do with the information he’d just been given about Richie.

Penn did. She’d already started scribbling furious notes.

“Eight and a half minutes,” she informed Eddie, handing him a pen and piece of paper. “There’s way too much here to make sense of in eight and a half minutes. Start writing.”

Eddie sighed and did as he was told. It was a boringly designed academic Web page with a thin blue border framing a plain beige background. At the top, a header in a severe blocky font read: THE TOZIER GLAN.

Just reading the name, Eddie felt his skin warm.

Penn tapped the monitor with her pen, snapping Eddie’s attention back to his task.

The Toziers do not sleep. Seemed possible; Richie always did look tired. They are generally silent. Check. Sometimes talking to Richie was like pulling teeth. In an eighth-century decree—

The screen went black. Their time was up.

“How much did you get?” Penn asked.

Eddie held up his sheet of paper. Pathetic. What he had was something he didn’t even remember doodling: the feathered edges of wings.

Penn gave him a sideways glance. “Yes, I can see you’re going to be an excellent research assistant,” she said, but she was laughing. “Maybe later we can theorize a game of MASH.” She held up her own much more copious notes. “It’s okay, I’ve got enough to lead us to a few other sources.”

Eddie stuffed the paper into his pocket right next to the crumpled master list he’d started of all his interactions with Richie. He was beginning to turn into his father, who didn’t like to be anywhere too far away from his paper shredder. Eddie bent down to look for a recycling bin and spotted a pair of legs walking down the aisle toward them.

The gait was as familiar as his own. He sat back up—or attempted to sit back up—and smacked his head on the underside of the computer table.

“Ow,” he moaned, rubbing the spot where he’d hit his head in the library fire.

Richie stood still a few feet away. His expression said the last thing in the world he’d wanted to do right now was run into Eddie. At least he’d shown up after the computer had logged them off. Richie didn’t need to think Eddie was stalking him any more actively than he already did.

But Richie seemed to be looked through him; his blue-gray eyes were fixed over Eddie’s shoulder, on something—or someone else.

Penn tapped Eddie on the shoulder, then jerked her thumb toward the person standing behind him. Bill was leaning over Eddie’s chair and grinning at him. A bolt of lightning outside sent Eddie practically jumping into Penn’s arms.

“Just a storm,” Bill said, cocking his head. “It’ll blow over soon. Shame, because you look pretty cute when you’re scared.”

Bill reached forward. He started at Eddie’s shoulder, then traced the edge of his arm with his fingers all the way down to Eddie’s hand. His eyes fluttered, it felt so good, and when he opened them, there was a small ruby velvet box in his hand. Bill flipped it open, just for a second, and Eddie saw a flash of gold.

“Open it later,” Bill said. “When you’re alone.”

“Bill—”

“I went by your room.”

“Can we—” Eddie looked over at Penn, who was blatantly staring at them with a front-row moviegoer’s captivation.

Finally snapping out of her trance, Penn waved her hands. “You want me to leave. I get it.”

“No, stay,” Bill said, sounding sweeter than Eddie expected. He turned to Eddie. “I’ll go. But later—you promise?”

“Sure.” Eddie felt himself blush.

Bill took Eddie’s hand and pushed it and the box down inside the front left pocket of his jeans. It was a tight fit, and it made him shiver to feel Bill’s fingers spread out on his hips. Then Bill winked and turned on his heel.

Before Eddie even had a chance to catch his breath, Bill had doubled back. “One last thing,” he said, gliding his arm behind Eddie’s head and stepping close to him.

Eddie’s head tilted back and Bill’s tilted forward, and Bill’s mouth was on his. His lips were as plush as they’d seemed all the times Eddie had stared at them.

It wasn’t deep, just a peck, but Eddie felt like it was much more. He couldn’t breathe for the shock and the thrill and the public viewing potential of this very long, very unexpected—

“What the—!”

Bill’s head had spun away, and then he was hunched over, clutching his jaw.

Richie was standing behind him, rubbing his wrist. “Keep your hands off him.”

“Didn’t hear you,” Bill said, drawing himself up slowly.

Oh. My. God. They were fighting. In the library. Over him.

Then, in one clean movement, Bill lunged toward Eddie. Eddie screamed as Bill’s arms began to close around him.

But Richie’s hands were quicker. He swatted Bill away hard, and shoved him against the computer table. Bill grunted as Richie grabbed a fistful of his hair and pinned his head down flat.

“I said keep your filthy hands off him, you evil piece of shit.”

Penn squealed, picked up her pencil bag, and tiptoed over to the wall. Eddie watched as she tossed her dingy yellow pencil bag once, twice, three times in the air. The fourth time, it went high enough to nail the small black camera screwed into the wall. The hit sent the camera’s lens swerving far to the left, toward a very still stack of nonfiction books.

By then, Bill had thrown Richie off and they were circling each other, their feet squeaking on the polished floor.

Richie started ducking before Eddie even realized Bill was winding up. But Richie still didn’t duck quickly enough. Bill landed what looked like a knockout punch just below Richie’s eye. Richie wheeled back from the force of it, jostling Eddie and Penn against the computer table. He turned and muttered a woozy apology before careening back around.

“Oh my God, stop!” Eddie cried, just before Richie leaped at Bill’s head.

Richie tackled Bill, throwing a messy flurry of punches at his shoulders and the sides of his face.

“That feels good,” Bill grunted, popping his neck from side to side like a boxer. Still hanging on, Richie moved his hands around Bill’s neck. And squeezed.

Bill responded by throwing Richie back against a tall shelf of books. The impact boomed out into the library, louder than the thunder outside.

Richie grunted and let go. He dropped to the floor with a thud.

“What else you got, Tozier?”

Eddie reeled, thinking he might not get up. But Richie pulled himself up quickly.

“I’ll show you,” he hissed. “Outside.” He stepped toward Eddie, then away. “You stay here.”

Then both boys thumped out of the library, through the back exit Eddie had used the night of the fire. He and Penn stood frozen to their spots. They stared at each other, jaws dropped.

“Come on,” Penn said, dragging Eddie over to a window that looked out on the commons. They pressed their faces to the glass, rubbing away the fog of their breath.

The rain was coming down in sheets. The field outside was dark, except for the light that came through the library windows. It was so muddy and slick, it was hard to see anything at all.

Then two figures sprinted out to the center of the commons. Both of them were soaked instantly. They argued for a moment, then started circling each other. Their fists were raised again.

Eddie gripped the windowsill and watched as Bill made the first move, running at Richie and slamming into him with his shoulder. Then a quick spinning kick to his ribs.

Richie keeled over, clutching his side. Get up. Eddie willed him to move. Eddie felt like he had been kicked himself. Every time Bill went at Richie, he felt it in his bones.

Eddie couldn’t stand to watch.

“Richie stumbled for a second there,” Penn announced after Eddie had turned away. “But he shot right up and totally clocked Bill in the face. Nice!”

“You’re enjoying this?” Eddie asked, horrified.

“My dad and I used to watch UFC,” Penn said. “Looks like both of these guys have had some serious mixed martial art training. Perfect cross, Richie!” She groaned. “Aw, man.”

“What?” Eddie peered out again. “Is he hurt?”

“Relax,” Penn said. “Someone’s coming to break up the fight. Just when Richie was bouncing back.”

Penn was right. It looked like Mr. Cole jogging across the campus. When he got the where the guys were fighting, he stood still and watched them for a moment, almost hypnotized by the way they were going at it.

“Do something,” Eddie whispered, feeling sick.

Finally, Mr. Cole grabbed each boy by the scruff of his neck. The three of them struggled for a moment until finally Richie pulled away. He shook out his right hand, then paced in a circle and spat a few times into the mud.

“Very attractive, Richie,” Eddie said sarcastically. Except it was.

Now for a talking-to from Mr. Cole. He waved his hands madly at them and they stood with heads hung. Bill was first to be dismissed. He jogged off the field toward the dorm and disappeared.

Mr. Cole placed a hand on Richie’s shoulder. Eddie was dying to know what they were talking about, whether Richie would be punished. Eddie wanted to go to him, but Penn blocked him.

“All that over a piece of jewelry. What did Bill give you, anyway?”

Mr. Cole walked off and Richie was alone, standing in the light from an overhead lamppost, looking up at the rain.

“I don’t know,” Eddie told Penn, leaving the window. “Whatever it is, I don’t want it. Especially not after this.” He walked back to the computer table and pulled the box from his pocket.

“If you won’t, I will,” Penn said. She cracked the box open, then looked up at Eddie, confused.

The flash of gold they’d seen had not been jewelry. There were only two things inside the box: another one of Bill’s blue guitar picks, and a golden slip of paper.

Meet me tomorrow after class. I’ll be waiting at the gates.

– B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a pretty action packed chapter. All the chapters from here on out are going to be intense.


	16. The Lions’ Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Eddie finally talk about some things and do some other things... however it ends unexpectedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

It had been a long time since Eddie had taken a good look in the mirror. He never used to mind his reflection—his clear caramel eyes, small, straight teeth; thick eyelashes; and tumble of dense brown hair. That was then. Before last summer.

After the events with Trevor, Eddie had started avoiding mirrors. It wasn’t just because of his appearance; Eddie didn’t think he liked who he was anymore, so he didn’t want to see any evidence. He started looking down at his hands when he washed them in the bathroom. He kept his head forward when walking past tinted windows and dark glass doors.

But twenty minutes before he was supposed to meet Bill, Eddie stood before the mirror in the empty bathroom in Augustine. He guessed he looked all right. His hair was starting to curl on the ends. He checked his teeth, then squared his shoulders and stared into the mirror as if he were looking Bill in the eye. Eddie had to tell him something, something important, and he wanted to make sure he could muster a look that demanded Bill take him seriously.

Bill hadn’t been in class today. Neither had Richie, so Eddie assumed Mr. Cole had put them both on some sort of probation. Either that or they were nursing their wounds. But Eddie had no doubt Bill would be waiting for him today.

Eddie didn’t want to see him. Not at all. Thinking about Bill’s fists slamming into Richie made his stomach lurch. But it was his fault they’d fought in the first place. He’d led Bill on—and whether he’d done it because he’d been confused or flattered or the tiniest bit interested didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that he be direct with Bill today: There was nothing between them.

Eddie took a deep breath, tugged his shirt down on his hips, and pushed open the bathroom door.

Approaching the gates, he couldn’t see Bill. But then, it was hard to see anything beyond the construction zone in the parking lot. Eddie hadn’t been back to the school entrance since they’d started the renovations there, and he was surprised at how complicated it was to maneuver across the ripped-up parking lot. He side-stepped potholes and tried to duck under the radar of the construction crew, waving off the asphalt fumes that never seemed to dissipate.

There was no sign of Bill. For a second, he felt foolish, almost like he’d fallen for some kind of prank. The high metal gates were blistered with red rust. Eddie looked through them at the dense grove of ancient elm trees across the road. He cracked his knuckles, thinking back to the time when Richie had told him he hated it when Eddie did that. But Richie wasn’t here to see him do it; no one was. Then he noticed a folded piece of paper with his name on it. It was staked to the thick, gray-trunked magnolia tree next to the broken call box.

I’m saving you from Social tonight. While the rest of our fellow students stage a Civil War reenactment—sad but true—you and I will paint the town red. A black sedan with a gold license plate will bring you to me. Thought we could both use a dose of fresh air.

—B

Eddie coughed from the fumes. Fresh air was one thing but a black sedan picking him up from campus? To bring Eddie to him, like Bill was some sort of monarch who could just arrange on a whim for people to be fetched? Where was Bill, anyway?

None of this was part of Eddie’s plan. He’d agreed to meet Bill only to tell him that he was being too forward and Eddie really couldn’t see himself getting involved with him. Because—although Eddie would never tell him—every time Bill’s fist had struck Richie the night before, something inside him had flinched and started to boil. Clearly, he needed to nip this little thing with Bill in the bud. He had the gold serpent bracelet in his pocket. It was time to give it back.

Except now Eddie felt stupid for assuming that Bill just wanted to talk. Of course he’d have something more up his sleeve. He was that kind of guy.

The sound of car wheels slowing made Eddie turn his head. A black sedan rolled to a stop in front of the gates. The tinted driver’s-side window rolled down and a hairy hand came out and picked up the receiver from the call box outside the gates. After a moment, the receiver was slammed back into its cradle and the driver just leaned on his horn.

At last, the great groaning metal gates parted and the car pulled forward, stopping in front of him. The doors softly unlocked. Was Eddie really going to get into that car and drive who-knew-where to meet Bill?

The last time Eddie had stood at these gates had been to say goodbye to his parents. Missing them before they’d even pulled away, he’d waved from this vary spot, next to the broken call box inside the gates—and, he remembered, he’d noticed one of the more high-tech security cameras. The kind with a motion detector, zooming in on his every move. Bill couldn’t have picked a worse spot for the car to pick him up.

All of a sudden, he saw visions of a basement solitary confinement cell. Damp cement walls and cockroaches running up his legs. No real light. The rumors were still spreading through campus about that couple, Jules and Phillip, who hadn’t been seen since they’d sneaked out. Did Bill think Eddie wanted to see him so badly he’d risk just walking off campus in plain view of the reds?

The car was still humming on the driveway in front of him. After a moment, the driver—a sunglasses—sporting man with a thick neck and thinning hair—extended his hand. In it was a small white envelope. Eddie hesitated a second before stepping forward to take it from his fingers.

Bill’s stationery. A heavy, creamy ivory card with his name letterpressed in decadent gold at the bottom left-hand corner.

Should have mentioned before, the red’s been duct. See for yourself. I took care of it, like I’ll take care of you. See you soon, I hope.

Duct? Did he mean—? Eddie dared a glance at the red. He did. A sharply cut black circle of duct tape had been placed cleanly over the lens of the camera. Eddie didn’t know how these things worked or how long it would take the faculty to find out, but in a weird way, he was relieved that Bill had thought to take care of it. Eddie couldn’t imagine Richie thinking so far ahead.

Both Callie and his parents were expecting phone calls this evening. Eddie had read Callie’s ten-page letter three times, and he had all the funny details memorized from his friend’s weekend trips to Nantucket, but he still wouldn’t have known how to answer any of Callie’s questions about his life at Sword & Cross. If he turned around and went inside to pick up the phone, he didn’t know how he’d begin to catch Callie or his parents up on the strange, dark twist the past few days had taken. Easier not to tell them at all, or not until he’d wrapped things up one way or another.

Eddie slid into the sedan’s plush beige leather backseat and buckled up. The driver put the car in gear without a word.

“Where are we going?” Eddie asked him.

“Little backwater place down the river. Mr. Denbrough likes the local color. Just sit back and relax. You’ll see.”

Mr. Denbrough? Who was this guy? Eddie never like being told to relax, especially when it felt like a warning not to ask any more questions. Nonetheless, Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, looked out the window, and tried to forget the driver’s tone when he spoke to him.

Through the tinted windows, the trees outside and the gray paved road beneath them all looked brown. At the turning whose westward fork led to Derry, the black sedan turned east. They were following the river toward the shore. Every now and then, when their path and the river’s converged, Eddie could see the brackish brown water twisting beside them. Twenty minutes later, the car slowed to a stop in front of a beat-up riverside bar.

It was made of gray, rotting wood, and a swollen, waterlogged sign over the front door read STYX in jagged red hand-painted letters. A strand of plastic pennants advertising beer had been stapled to the wood beam underneath the tin roof, a mediocre attempt at festivity. Eddie studied the images silk-screened onto the plastic triangles—palm trees and tanned, bikini-clad girls with beer bottles at their grinning lips—and wondered when the last time had been when a real live girl had actually set foot in this place.

Two older punk rock guys sat smoking on a beach facing the water. Tired Mohawks drooped over their middle-aged foreheads, and their leather jackets had ugly, dirty look of something they’d been wearing since punk was new. The blank expressions on their tan, slack faces made the whole scene feel even more desolate.

The water edging the two-lane highway had began to overwhelm the asphalt, and the road just sort of petered out into wet grass and mud. Eddie had never been this far towards the ocean.

As he sat, unsure what he’d do once he left the car, or whether that was even a good idea, the front door of Styx banged open and Bill sauntered out. He leaned coolly against the screen door, one leg crossed over the other. Eddie knew Bill couldn’t see him through the tinted window of the car, but Bill raised his hand like he could and beckoned Eddie toward him.

“Here goes nothing,” Eddie muttered before thanking the driver. He opened the door and was greeted by a blast of salty wind as he climbed the three steps to the bar’s wooden porch.

Bill’s shaggy hair was loose around his face and he had a calm look in his blue eyes. One sleeve of his black T-shirt was pushed up over his shoulder, and Eddie could see the smooth cut of his bicep. Eddie fingered the gold chain in his pocket. Remember why you’re here.

Bill’s face showed no sign of the fight the night before, which made Eddie wonder, immediately, whether Richie’s did.

Bill gave him an inquisitive look, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “I was just calculating how many consolation drinks I’d need if you stood me up today,” Bill said, opening his arms for a hug. Eddie stepped into them. Bill was a very hard person to say no to, even when Eddie wasn’t totally sure what he was asking.

“I wouldn’t stand you up,” Eddie said, then immediately felt guilty, knowing that his words came from a sense of duty, not the romance Bill would have preferred. Eddie was there only because he was going to tell Bill he didn’t want to be involved with him. “So what is this place? And since when do you have a car service?”

“Stick with me,” Bill said, seeming to take his questions as compliments, as if Eddie liked being whisked off to bars that smelled like the inside of a sink drain.

Eddie was so bad at this kind of thing. Callie always said he was incapable of brutal honesty and that was why he got himself stuck in so many crappy situations with guys whom he should have just told no. Eddie was trembling. He had to get this off his chest. He fished in his pocket and pulled out the bracelet. “Bill.”

“Oh good, you brought it.” Bill took the bracelet from Eddie’s hands and spun his hand around. “Let me help you put it on.”

“No, wait—”

“There,” Bill said. “It really suits you. Take a look.” He steered Eddie along the creaking wooden floorboards to the window of the bar, where a number of bands had posted signs for shows. THE OLD BABIES. DRIPPING WITH HATE. HOUSE CRACKERS. Eddie would rather have studied any of them than gaze at his reflection. “See?”

Eddie couldn’t really make out his features in the mud-flecked windowpane, but the gold pendant gleamed on his warm skin. He pressed his hand to it. It was lovely. And so distinctive, with its tiny hand-sculpted serpent snaking up the middle. It wasn’t like anything you’d see at the boardwalk markets, where locals peddled over-priced crafts for tourists, state of Maine souvenirs made in the Philippines. Behind his reflection in the window the sky was a rich orange-Popsicle color, broken up by thin lines of pink cloud.

“About last night…,” Bill started to say. Eddie could vaguely see his rosy lips moving in the glass over his shoulder.

“I wanted to talk to you about last night, too,” Eddie said, standing at his side. He could see the very tips of the sunburst tattoo on the back side of Bill’s neck.

“Come inside,” Bill said, guiding Eddie back to the half-unhinged screen door. “We can talk in there.”

The interior of the bar was wood-paneled, with a few dim orange lamps providing the only light. All sizes and shapes of antlers were mounted on the wall, and a taxidermied cheetah was poised over the bar, looking ready to lunge at any moment. A faded composite picture with the words DERRY COUNTY MOSSE CLUB OFFICERS 1964-65 was the only other decoration on the wall, showcasing a hundred oval faces, smiling modestly above pastel bow ties. The jukebox was playing Ziggy Stardust, and an older guy with a shaved head and leather pants was humming, dancing alone in the middle of a small raised stage. Besides Eddie and Bill, he was the only other person in the place.

Bill pointed to two stools. The worn green leather cushions had split down the middle, the beige foam bursting out like massive pieces of popcorn. There was already a half-empty glass at the seat Bill claimed. The drink in it was light brown and watered down with ice, beaded with sweat.

“What’s that?” Eddie asked.

“Moonshine,” Bill said, taking a gulp. “I don’t recommend it to start.” When Eddie squinted at him, Bill said, “I’ve been here all day.”

“Charming,” Eddie said, fingering the gold bracelet. “What are you, seventy? Sitting in a bar by yourself all day?”

Bill didn’t seem obviously drunk, but Eddie didn’t like the idea of coming all the way out here to break things off with him, only to have him be too trashed to understand it. Eddie was also starting to wonder how he’d get back to school. He didn’t even know where this place was.

“Ouch.” Bill rubbed his heart. “The beauty of being suspended from class, Eddie, is that no one misses you during class. I thought I deserved a little recovery time.” He cocked his head. “What’s really bothering you? Is it this place? Or the fight last night? Or the face that we’re getting no service?” Bill raised his voice to shout the last words, loud enough to cause a huge, burly bartender to swing in from the kitchen door behind the bar. The barman had long, layered hair with bangs, and tattoos that looked like braided human hair running up and down his arms. He was all muscle and must have weighed three hundred pounds.

Bill turned to Eddie and smiled. “What’s your poison?”

“I don’t care,” Eddie said. “I don’t really have my own poison.”

“You were drinking champagne at my party,” Bill said. “See who’s paying attention?” He nudged Eddie with his shoulder. “Your finest champagne over here,” he told the bartender, who threw back his head and let out a snide hacking laugh.

Making no attempt to card Eddie or even to glance at him long enough to guess at his age, the bartender bent down to a small refrigerator with a sliding glass door. The bottles clinked as he dug and dug. After what seemed like a long time, he reemerged with a tiny bottle of Freixenet. It looked like it had something orange growing around its base.

“I accept no responsibility for this,” he said, handing it over.

Bill popped the cork and raised his eyebrows at Eddie. He poured the Freixenet ceremoniously into a wineglass.

“I wanted to apologize,” Bill said. “I know I’ve been coming on a little strong. And last night, what happened with Richie, I don’t feel good about that.” He waited for Eddie to nod before he went on. “Instead of getting mad, I should have just listened to you. You’re the one I care about, not him.”

Eddie watched the bubbles rise in his wine, thinking that if he were to be honest, he’d say it was Richie he cared about, not Bill. He had to tell Bill. If Bill already regretted not having listening to Eddie last night, maybe now he’d start to. Eddie raised his glass to take a sip before he started in.

“Oh, wait.” Bill put a hand on his arm. “You can’t drink until we’ve toasted something.” He raised his glass and held Eddie’s eyes. “What should it be? You pick.”

The screen door slammed and the guys who had been smoking on the porch came back in. The taller one, with oily black hair, a snub nose, and very dirty fingernails, took one look at Eddie and started toward them.

“What are we celebrating?” He leered at Eddie, nudging his raised glass with his tumbler. He leaned close, and Eddie could feel the flesh of his hip pressing into his through his flannel shirt. “Baby’s first night out? What time’s curfew?”

“We’re celebrating you taking your ass back outside right now,” Bill said as pleasantly as if he’d just announced it was Eddie’s birthday. He fixed his blue eyes on the man, who bared his small, pointed teeth and mouthful of gums.

“Outside, huh? Only if I take him with me.”

He grabbed for Eddie’s hand. After the way the fight with Richie had broken out, Eddie expected Bill would need little excuse to fly off the handle again. Especially if he really had been drinking here all day. But Bill stayed remarkably cool.

All Bill did was sawt the guy’s hand away with the speed, grace, and brutal force of a lion swatting a mouse. Bill shook his hand with a bored look on his face, then stoked Eddie’s wrist where the guy had tried to grab it. “Sorry about that. You were saying, about last night?”

“I was saying…” Eddie felt the blood drain from his face. Directly over Bill’s head, an enormous piece of pitch-dark had yawned open, stretching forth and unfolding from itself until it had become the largest, blackest shadow he had ever seen. An arctic gush of air blasted from its core, and Eddie felt the shadow’s frost even on Bill’s fingers, still tracing his skin.

“Oh. My. God,” Eddie whispered.

There was a crash of glass as the guy smashed his tumbler down on Bill’s head.

Slowly, Bill stood from his chair and shook some of the shards of glass from his hair. He turned to face the man, who was easily twice his age and several inches taller.

Eddie cowered on his bar stool, rearing away from what he sensed was about to happen between Bill and this other guy. And what he feared could happen with the sprawling, dead-of-night black shadow overhead.

“Break it up,” the huge bartender said flatly, not even bothering to look up from his Fight magazine.

Immediately, the guy started swinging blindly at Bill, who took the senseless punches as if they were smacks from a child.

Eddie wasn’t the only one stunned by Bill’s composure: The leather-pants-wearing dancer was cowering against the jukebox. And after the oily-haired guy had socked Bill a few times, even he stepped back and hung there, confused.

Meanwhile, the shadow was pooling against the ceiling, dark tendrils growing like weeds and dropping closer and closer to their heads. Eddie winced and ducked just as Bill fended off one last punch from the seedy guy.

And then decided to fight back.

It was just a simple flick of his fingers, as if Bill were brushing away a dead leaf. One minute, the guy was all up in Bill’s face, but when Bill’s fingers connected with his opponent’s chest, the dude went flying—knocked off his feet and into the air, discarded beer bottles scattering in his wake, until his back slammed into the opposite wall near the jukebox.

He rubbed his head and, moaning, began to pull himself into a crouch.

“How did you do that?” Eddie’s eyes were wide.

Bill ignored him, turned toward the guy’s shorter, stockier friend, and said, “You next?”

The second guy raised his palms. “Not my fight, man,” he said, shrinking away.

Bill shrugged, stepped toward the first guy, and lifted him off the floor by the back of his T-shirt. His limbs dangled helplessly in the air, like a puppet’s. Then, with an easy toss of his wrist, Bill threw they guy against the wall. He almost seemed to stick there while Bill cut loose, pounding the guy and saying again and again, “I said go outside!”

“Enough!” Eddie shouted, but neither one of them heard him or cared. Eddie felt sick. He wanted to tear his eyes away from the bloody nose and gums of the guy pinned against the wall, from Bill’s almost superhuman strength. Eddie wanted to tell him to forget it, that he would find his own way back to school. He wanted, most of all, to get away from the gruesome shadow now coating the ceiling and dripping down the walls. Eddie grabbed his bag and ran out into the night—

And right into someone’s arms.

“Are you okay?”

It was Richie.

“How did you find me here?” Eddie asked, unabashedly burying his face in Richie’s shoulder. Tears he didn’t want to deal with were welling up inside him.

“Come on,” Richie said. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Without looking back, Eddie slipped his hand into Richie’s. Warmth spread up his arm and through his body. And then the tears began to flow. It wasn’t fair to feel so safe when the shadows were still so close.

Even Richie seemed on edge. He was dragging Eddie across the lot so quickly, he nearly had to sprint to keep up.

Eddie didn’t want to glance back when he sensed the shadows spilling out of the door of the bar and brewing in the air. But then, he didn’t have to. They flowed in a steady stream over his head, sucking up all light in their path. It was as if the whole world were being torn to pieces right before his eyes. A rotting sulfur stench stuck in his nose, worse than anything he knew.

Richie glanced up, too, and scowled, only he looked like he was merely trying to remember where he’d parked. But then the strangest thing happened. The shadows flinched backward, boiled away in black splatters that pooled and scattered.

Eddie narrowed his eyes in disbelief. How had Richie done that? He hadn’t done that, had he?

“What?” Richie asked, distracted. He unlocked the passenger-side door of a white Taurus station wagon. “Something wrong?”

“We do not have time for me to list all of the many, many things that are wrong,” Eddie said, sinking into the car seat. “Look.” He pointed toward the entrance to the bar. The screen door had just swung open on Bill. He must have knocked out the other guy, but he didn’t look like he was done fighting. His fists were clenched.

Richie smirked and shook his head. Eddie was fruitlessly stabbing his seat belt again and again at the buckle until Richie reached over and pushed his hands away. Eddie held his breath as Richie’s fingers grazed his stomach. “There’s a trick,” he whispered, fitting the clasp into the base.

Richie started the car, then backed out slowly, taking his time as they drove past the door to the bar. Eddie couldn’t think of a single thing to say to Bill, but it felt perfect when Richie rolled down the window and simply said, “Good night, Bill.”

“Eddie,” Bill said, walking toward the car. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave with him. It will end badly.” Eddie couldn’t look at his eyes, which he knew were pleading for him to com back. “I’m sorry.”

Richie ignored Bill entirely and just drove. The water looked cloudy in the twilight, and the woods in front of them looked even cloudier.

“You still haven’t told me how you found me here,” Eddie said. “Or how you knew I went to meet Bill. Or where you got this car.”

“It’s Miss Sophia’s,” Richie explained, turning on the brights as the trees grew together overhead and threw the road into dense shadow.

“Miss Sophia let you borrow her car?”

“After years living on skid row in L.A.,” Richie said, shrugging, “you might say I’ve got a magic touch when it comes to ‘borrowing’ cars.”

“You stole Miss Sophia’s car?” Eddie scoffed, wondering how the librarian would note this development in her files.

“We’ll bring it back,” Richie said. “Besides, she was pretty preoccupied by tonight’s Civil War reenactment. Something tells me she won’t even notice it’s gone.”

It was only then that Eddie realized what Richie was wearing. He took in the blue Union soldier’s uniform with its ridiculous brown leather strap slung diagonally over Richie’s chest. Eddie had been so terrified of the shadows, of Bill, of the whole creepy scene, that he hadn’t even paused to fully take Richie in.

“Don’t you laugh,” Richie said, trying not to laugh himself. “You got out of possibly with worst Social of the year tonight.”

Eddie couldn’t help himself: He reached forward and flicked one of Richie’s buttons. “Shame,” he said, putting on a southern drawl. “I just had my belle-of-the-ball gown pressed.”

Richie’s lips crept up in a smile, but then he sighed. “Eddie. What you did tonight—things could have gotten really bad. Do you know that?”

Eddie stared out at the road, annoyed that the mood had shifted so suddenly back to grim. A hoot owl stared back from a tree.

“I didn’t mean to come here,” he said, which felt true. It was almost like Bill had tricked him. “I wish I hadn’t,” he added quickly, wondering where the shadow was now.

Richie banged his fist on the steering wheel, making Eddie jump. He was gritting his teeth, and Eddie hated that he was the one who’d made him look so angry.

“I just can’t believe you’re involved with him,” Richie said.

“I’m not,” Eddie insisted. “The only reason I showed up was to tell him…” It was pointless. Involved with Bill! If Richie only knew that he and Penn spent most of their free time researching his family… well, he would probably be equally annoyed.

“You don’t have to explain,” Richie said, waving him off. “It’s my fault, anyway.”

“Your fault?”

By then Richie had turned off the road and brought the car to a stop at the end of a sandy path. He switched the headlights off and they stared out at the ocean. The dusky sky was a deep plum shade, and the crests of the waves looked almost silver, sparkling. The beach grass whipped in the wind, making a high, desolate whistling sound. A flock of ragged seagulls sat in a line along the boardwalk railing, grooming their feathers.

“Are we lost?” Eddie asked.

Richie ignored him. He got out of the car and shut the door, started walking toward the water. Eddie waited ten agonizing seconds, watching his silhouette grow smaller in the purple twilight, before he hopped out of the car to follow Richie.

The wind whipped his hair against his face. Waves beat the shore, tugging lines of shells and seaweed back in their undertow. The air was cooler by the water. Everything had a fiercely briny scent.

“What’s going on, Richie?” he said, jogging along the dune. He felt heavier walking in the sand. “Where are we? And what do you mean, it’s your fault?”

Richie turned to him. He looked so defeated, his costume uniform all bunched up, his gray eyes drooping. The roar of the waves almost overpowered his voice. 

“I just need some time to think.”

Eddie felt a lump rising in his throat all over again. He’d finally stopped crying, but Richie was making this all so hard. “Why rescue me, then? Why come all the way out here to pick me up, then yell at me, then ignore me?” He wiped his eyes on the hem of his black T-shirt, and the sea salt on his fingers made them sting. “Not that that’s very different from the way you treat me most of the time, but—”

Richie spun and smacked both his hands to his forehead. “You don’t get it, Eddie.” He shook his head. “That’s the thing—you never do.”

There was nothing mean about his voice. In fact, it was almost too nice. Like Eddie was too dim to grasp whatever was so obvious to Richie. Which made Eddie absolutely furious.

“I don’t get it?” he asked. “I don’t get it? Let me tell you something about what I get. You think you’re so smart? I spent three years on a full academic scholarship at the best college-prep school in the country. And when they kicked me out, I had to petition—petition! —to keep them from wiping out my four-point-oh transcript.”

Richie moved away, but Eddie pursued him, taking a step forward for every wide-eyed step he took back. Probably freaking him out, but so what? Richie had been asking for it every time he condescended to Eddie.

“I know Latin and French, and in middle school, I won the science fair three years in a row.”

Eddie had backed Richie up against the railing of the boardwalk and was trying to restrain himself from poking Richie in the chest with his finger. He wasn’t finished. “I also do the Sunday crossword puzzle, sometimes in under an hour. I have an unerringly good sense of direction… though not always when it comes to guys.”

Eddie swallowed and took a moment to catch his breath.

“And, someday, I’m going to be a psychiatrist who actually listens to his patients and helps people. Okay? So don’t keep talking to me like I’m stupid and don’t tell me I don’t understand just because I can’t decode your erratic, flaky, hot-one-minute-cold-the-next, frankly”—he looked up at Richie, letting out his breath—“really hurtful behavior.” Eddie brushed a tear away, angry with himself for getting so worked up.

“Shut up,” Richie said, but he said it softly and so tenderly that Eddie surprised both of them by obeying.

“I don’t think you’re stupid.” He closed his eyes. “I think you’re the smartest person I know. And the kindest. And”—Richie swallowed, opening his eyes to look directly at Eddie— “the most beautiful.”

“Excuse me?”

Richie looked out at the ocean. “I’m just… so tired of this,” he said. He did sound exhausted.

“Of what?”

Riche looked over at him, with the saddest expression on his face, as if he had lost something precious. This was the Richie he knew, though he couldn’t explain how or from where. This was the Richie he… loved.

“You can show me,” Eddie whispered.

Richie shook his head. But his lips were still so close to Eddie’s. And the look in his eyes was so alluring. It was almost as if Richie wanted him to show him first.

Eddie’s body quaked with nerves as he stood on his tiptoes and leaned toward him. He put his hand on Richie’s cheek and he blinked, but he didn’t move. Eddie moved slowly, so slowly, as if he were scared to startle Richie, every second feeling petrified himself. And then, when they were close enough that Eddie’s eyes were almost crossing, he closed them and pressed his lips against his.

The softest, featherlight touch of their lips was all that connected them, but a fire Eddie had never felt before coursed through him, and he knew he needed more of—all of—Richie. It would be too much to ask of Richie to need Eddie the same way, to fold Eddie in his arm like he’d done so many times in his dreams, to return Eddie’s wishful kiss with one more powerful.

But Richie did.

His muscled arms circled around Eddie’s waist. He drew Eddie to him, and Eddie could feel the clean line of their two bodies connecting— legs tangled up in legs, hips pressed into hips, chests heaving in time with each other. Richie backed him up against the boardwalk’s railing, pinning Eddie’s back closer to him until he couldn’t move, until Richie had him exactly where he wanted to be. All of this without once breaking the passionate lock of their lips.

Then Richie started to really kiss him, softly at first, making subtle, lovely pecking noises in his ear. Then long and sweet and tenderly, along his jawline and down his neck, making Eddie moan and tilt back his head. Richie tugged lightly on his hair and Eddie opened his eyes to glimpse, for a second, the first stars coming out in the night sky. He felt closer to Heaven than he ever had before.

At last, Richie returned to his lips, kissing Eddie with such intensity—sucking his bottom lip, then edging his soft tongue just past Eddie’s teeth. Eddie opened his mouth wider, desperate to let more of Richie in, finally unafraid to show how much he yearned for him. To match the force of Richie’s kisses with his own.

Eddie had sand in his mouth and between his toes, the briny wind raising goose bumps on his skin, and the sweetest, spellbound feeling spilling from his heart.

Eddie could, at that moment, have died for him.

Riche pulled away and stared down at Eddie, as if he wanted him to say something. Eddie smiled up at him and pecked him softly on the lips, letting his fingers on Richie’s. Eddie knew no words, no better way to communicate what he was feeling, what he wanted.

“You’re still here,” Richie whispered.

“They couldn’t drag me away.” Eddie laughed.

Richie took a step back, and with a dark look at Eddie, his smile was gone. He began pacing in front of Eddie, rubbing his forehead with his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked lightly, pulling Richie’s sleeve so he’d come back in for another kiss. Richie ran his fingers over Eddie’s face, through Eddie’s hair, around Eddie’s neck. Like he was making sure Eddie wasn’t a dream.

Was this Eddie’s first real kiss? He didn’t think he was supposed to count Trevor, so technically it was. And everything felt so right, like he had been destined for Richie, and he for Eddie. Richie smelled… beautiful. His mouth tasted sweet and rich. He was tall and strong and…

Slipping from Eddie’s embrace.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Richie’s knees bent and he sank a few inches, leaning up against the wooden railing and looking at the sky. He looked like he was in pain.

“You said nothing could drag you away,” Richie said in a hushed voice. “But they will. Maybe they’re just running late.”

“They? Who?” Eddie asked, looking around at the deserted beach. “Bill? I think we lost him.”

“No.” Richie started walking away down the boardwalk. He was shivering. “It’s impossible.”

“Richie.”

“It will come,” he whispered.

“You’re scaring me.” Eddie followed behind, trying to keep up. Because suddenly, even though he didn’t want to, he had a feeling he knew what Richie meant. Not Bill, but something else, some other threat.

Eddie’s mind felt foggy. Richie’s words knocked on his brain, ringing eerily true, but the reasoning behind them eluded Eddie. Like the wisp of a dream he couldn’t remember the whole of.

“Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Richie turned, his face pale as the bloom of a peony, his arms held out in surrender. “I don’t know how to stop it,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y’all liked this chapter, things are starting to get pretty intense.


	17. Hanging In The Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie finally tells Eddie the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

Eddie stood at the crossroads between the cemetery on the north side of campus and the path to the lake on the south. It was early evening and the construction workers had gone home. Light sifted down through the branches of the oaks behind the gym, casting dappled shadows on the lawn that led to the lake. Tempting Eddie toward it. He wasn’t sure which way to go. He held two letters in his hands.

The first, from Bill, was the apology Eddie had expected, and a plea for him to meet Bill after school to talk it out. The second, from Richie, said nothing other than “Meet me at the lake.” Eddie couldn’t wait to. His lips still tingled from their kiss last night. He couldn’t get the thought of Richie’s fingers in his hair, or Richie’s lips on his neck, out of his mind.

Other parts of the night were hazier, like what had happened after he sat down next to Richie on the beach. Compared to the way his hands had ravished Eddie’s body not ten minutes earlier, Richie had seemed almost terrified to touch him.

Nothing could shake Richie from his daze. He kept murmuring the same thing over and over— “Something must have happened. Something changed”—and staring at Eddie with pain in his eyes, as if Eddie held the answer, as if he had any idea what Richie’s words meant. At last, Eddie had fallen asleep leaning on his shoulder, looking out at the ethereal sea.

When he woke up hours later, Richie was carrying him up the stairs back to his dorm room. Eddie was startled to realize he’d slept through the whole ride back to school—and even more startled by the strange glow in the hallway. It was back. Richie’s light. Which Eddie didn’t even know if Richie could see.

Everything around them was bathed in that soft violet light. The white bumper-stickered doorways of the other students had taken on a neon hue. The dull linoleum tiles seemed to glow. The windowpane looking out on the cemetery cast a violet shine on the first hint of dull yellow morning light outside. All of it directly under the gaze of the reds.

“We’re so busted,” Eddie whispered, nervous and still half asleep.

“I’m not worried about the reds,” Richie said calmly, following Eddie’s eyes to the cameras. At first his words were soothing, but then Eddie started to wonder about something uneasy in his tone: If Richie wasn’t worried about the reds, he was worried about something else.

When he laid Eddie down in his bed, Richie kissed him lightly on the forehead then took a deep breath. “Don’t disappear on me,” he said.

“No chance of that.”

“I’m serious.” Richie closed his eyes for a long time. “Get some rest now—but find me in the morning before class. I want to talk to you. Promise?”

Eddie squeezed his hand to pull Richie to him for one last kiss. Eddie held his face between his palms and melted into Richie. Every time his eyes flickered open, Richie’s were watching him. And he loved it.

At last, Richie backed away, and stood in the doorway gazing at Eddie, his eyes still doing as much to make Eddie’s heart race as his lips had done a moment before. When Richie slinked back into the hallway and closed the door behind him, Eddie drifted off into the deepest sleep.

Eddie had slept through his morning classes and had awoken in the early afternoon feeling reborn and alive. Not caring at all that he had no excuse for missing school. Only worried that he’d slept through meeting Richie. Eddie would find him as soon as he could, and Richie would understand.

Around two o’clock, when it finally occurred to Eddie to eat something or maybe pop in on Miss Sophia’s religion class, he grudgingly crawled out of bed. That was when he saw the two envelopes that had been slipped underneath his door, which set him back severely in his goal of leaving his room.

Eddie had to tell Bill off first. If he went to the lake before the cemetery, he knew he’d never be able to make himself leave Richie. If he went first to the cemetery, his desire to see Richie again would make him bold enough to say to Bill the things he’d been too nervous to say before. Before everything had gotten so scary and out of control last night.

Pushing through his fears about seeing Bill, Eddie started across the commons toward the cemetery. The early evening was warm, and the air was sticky with humidity. It was going to be one of those sweltering nights when the breeze from the distant sea never got strong enough to cool things down. There was no one out on campus, and the leaves on all the trees were still. Eddie could have been the only thing at Sword & Cross that was actually on the move. Everyone else would be released from class, herded into the dining hall for dinner, and Penn—and possibly others—would be wondering about Eddie by now.

Bill was leaning up against the lichen-speckled gates of the cemetery when Eddie got there. Bill’s elbows rested on the carved vine-shaped iron posts, his shoulders hunched forward. He was kicking up a dandelion with the steel tip of his thick black boot. Eddie couldn’t remember seeing him look so internally consumed—most of the time Bill seemed to have a keen interest in the world around him.

But this time, Bill didn’t even look up at him until Eddie was directly in front of him. And when Bill did, his face was ashen. His hair was flat against his head and Eddie was surprised to notice that he could have used a shave. His eyes rolled over Eddie’s face, as if focusing on each of his features required effort. Bill looked wrecked, not beaten up from the fight, but simply as if he hadn’t slept in a few days.

“You came.” Bill’s voice was hoarse, but his words ended with a small smile.

Eddie cracked his knuckles, thinking he wouldn’t be smiling much longer. He nodded and held up Bill’s letter.

Bill reached for his hand, but Eddie pulled his arm away, pretending he needed the hand to brush the hair from his eyes.

“I figured you’d be mad about last night,” Bill said, pushing himself away from the gate. He took a few steps into the cemetery, then sat cross-legged on a short gray marble bench among the first row of graves. He wiped the dirt and brittle leaves away, then patted the empty spot next to him.

“Mad?” Eddie said.

“That’s generally why people storm out of bars.”

Eddie sat down facing Bill, cross-legged too. From up here, he could see the top branches of the enormous old oak down in the center of the graveyard, where he and Bill had their afternoon picnic what seemed like a very long time ago.

“I don’t know,” Eddie said. “More like baffled. Confused, maybe. Disappointed.” He shuddered at the memory of that seedy guy’s eyes when he grabbed him, the sick flurry of Bill’s fists, the deep black roof of shadow… “Why did you take me there? You know what happened when Jules and Phillip snuck out.”

“Jules and Phillip were morons whose every move was monitored by tracking wristbands. Of course they were going to get busted.” Bill smiled darkly, but not at Eddie. “We’re nothing like them, Eddie. Believe me. And besides, I wasn’t trying to get in another fight.” He rubbed his temples, and the skin around them bunched up, looking leathery and too thin. “I just couldn’t stand the way that guy talked to you, touched you. You deserve to be handled with the utmost care.” His blue eyes widened. “I want to be the one to do it. The only one.”

Eddie touched his hair behind his ears and took a deep breath. “Bill, you seem like a really great guy—”

“Oh no.” Bill covered his face with his hands. “Not the let-him-down-easy speech. I hope you’re not going to say we should be friends.”

“You don’t want to be my friend?”

“You know I want to be much more than your friend,” Bill said, spitting out “friend” as if it were a dirty word. “It’s Tozier, isn’t it?”

Eddie felt his stomach constrict. He guessed it wasn’t too hard to figure it out, but he’d been so wrapped up in his own feelings, he’d barely had time to consider what Bill thought about the two of them.

“You don’t really know either of us,” Bill said, standing and stepping away, “but you’re prepared to choose right now, huh?”

It was presumptuous of Bill to assume he was even still in the running. Especially after last night. That he could think there was some contest between him and Richie.

Then Bill crouched before Eddie on the bench. His face was different—pleading, earnest—as he cupped Eddie’s hands in his.

Eddie was surprised to see him so wound up. “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling back. “It just happened.”

“Exactly! It just happened. What was it, let me guess—last night he looked at you in some new romantic way. Eddie, you’re rushing into a decision before you even know what’s at stake. There could be… a lot at stake.” Bill sighed at the confused look on Eddie’s face. “I could make you happy.”

“Richie makes me happy.”

“How can you say that? He won’t even touch you.”

Eddie closed his eyes, remembering the tangle of their lips last night on the beach. Richie’s arms encircling him. The whole world had felt so right, so harmonious, so safe. But when he opened his eyes now, Richie was nowhere to be seen.

It was only Bill.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Yes, he will. He does.”

His cheeks felt warm. Eddie pressed a cool hand to them, but Bill didn’t notice. Bill’s hands curled into fists.

“Elaborate.”

“The way Richie kisses me is none of your business.” He bit his lip, furious. Bill was mocking him.

Bill chuckled. “Oh? I can do just as good as Tozier,” he said, picking up Eddie’s hand and kissing the back of it before abruptly letting it drop back at his side.

“It was nothing like that,” Eddie said, turning away.

“How about this, then?” Bill’s lips grazed his cheek before Eddie could shrug him off.

“Wrong.”

Bill licked his lips. “You’re saying Richie Tozier actually kissed you the way you deserve to be kissed?” Something in his charcoal eyes was beginning to look baleful.

“Yes,” Eddie said, “the best kiss I’ve ever had.” And even though it had been his only real kiss, Eddie knew that if you asked him again in sixty years, a hundred years, he would say the same thing.

“And yet here you are,” Bill said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Eddie didn’t like what he was insinuating. “I’m only here to tell you the truth about me and Richie. To let you know that you and I—”

Bill burst out laughing, a loud, hollow cackle that echoed across the empty cemetery. He laughed so long and hard, he gripped his sides and wiped a tear away from his eyes.

“What’s so funny?” Eddie said.

“You have no idea,” Bill said, still laughing.

Bill’s you-wouldn’t-get-it tone wasn’t far off from the one Richie had used last night when, almost inconsolable, he kept repeating, “It’s impossible.” But Eddie’s reaction to Bill was entirely different. When Richie walled him out, he felt even more of a pull toward him. Even when they argued, he yearned to be with Richie more than he ever wanted to be with Bill. But when Bill made him feel like an outsider, he was relieved. He didn’t want to be any closer to him.

In fact, right now he felt too close.

He’d had enough. Gritting his teeth, Eddie rose and stalked toward the gates, angry at himself for wasting this much time.

But Bill caught up to him, swinging around in front of him and blocking his exit. Bill was still laughing at him, biting his lip, trying not to. “Don’t go,” he chuckled.

“Leave me alone.”

“Not yet.”

Before Eddie could stop him, Bill caught Eddie up in his arms and bent him backward into a sweeping dip so that his feet came off the ground. Eddie cried out, struggling for a moment, but Bill smiled.

“Let go of me!”

“Tozier and I have fought a pretty fair fight so far, don’t you think?”

Eddie glared at him, his hands pushing against Bill’s chest. “Go to Hell.”

“You’re misunderstanding,” Bill said, drawing Eddie’s face closer to his. His blue eyes bored down at Eddie and he hated that a part of him still felt swept away in Bill’s gaze.

“Look, I know things have gotten crazy the past couple of days,” Bill said in a hushed voice, “but I care for you, Eddie. Deeply. Don’t pick him before you let me have one kiss.”

Eddie felt Bill’s arms tighten around him, and suddenly, he was scared. They were out of sight of the school, and no one knew where he was.

“It won’t change anything,” Eddie told him, trying to sound calm.

“Humor me? Pretend I’m a soldier and you’re granting my dying wish. I promise, just one kiss.”

Eddie’s mind went to Richie. He pictured him waiting at the lake, keeping his hands busy skipping stones over the water, when he should have had Eddie in his arms. Eddie didn’t want to kiss Bill, but what if he really wouldn’t let him go? The kiss could be the smallest, most insignificant thing. The easiest way to break loose. And then he’d be free to get back to Richie. Bill had promised.

“Just one kiss—” Eddie started, but then Bill’s lips were on his.

Eddie’s second kiss in as many days. Where Richie’s kiss had been hungry and almost desperate, Bill’s kiss was gentle and too perfect, as if he had been practicing on a hundred people before Eddie.

Suddenly, Eddie felt himself falling. He slammed into the ground so hard the wind was knocked out of him. Raising himself up on his arms, he watched as, a few inches away, Bill’s face came into contact with the ground. Eddie winced despite himself.

The early-evening sun cast a dusty light on two figures in the graveyard.

“How many times must you ruin this boy?” Eddie heard the sad drawl.

Ben? He looked up, blinking into the setting sun.

Ben and Richie.

Ben rushed over to help Eddie to his feet, but Richie wouldn’t even look him in the eye.

Eddie cursed himself under his breath. He couldn’t figure out what was worse—that Richie had just seen him kissing Bill, or that—he was sure—Richie was going to fight Bill again.

Bill stood up and faced them, ignoring Eddie completely. “All right, which one of you is it going to be this time?” he snarled.

This time?

“Me,” Ben said, stepping forward with his hands on his hips. “That first little love tap was all me, Bill. What are you going to do about it?

Eddie shook his head. Ben had to be joking. Surely this was some kind of game. But Bill didn’t seem to think anything was funny. He bared his teeth and rolled up his sleeves, raising his fists and moving forward.

“Again, Bill?” Eddie scolded him. “You haven’t gotten in enough fights already this week?” As if that weren’t enough, he was actually going to his Ben.

Bill shot Eddie a sideways smile. “Third time’s the charm,” he said, his voice dripping malice. He turned back just as Ben came at him with a high kick to the jaw.

Eddie scurried backward as Bill fell. His eyes were pinched shut and he was clutching his face. Standing over him, Ben looked as unfazed as if he’d just pulled a perfectly backed peach cobbler from the oven. He glanced down at his nails and sighed.

“Gonna be a shame to have to beat up on you just when we were starting to get along. Oh well,” Ben said, proceeding to kick Bill repeatedly in the stomach, relishing each kick like a kid winning at an arcade game.

Bill staggered up into a crouch. Eddie couldn’t see his face anymore—it was buried between his knees—but he was moaning in pain and choking on his own breath.

Eddie stood and looked from Ben to Bill and back again, unable to make sense of what he was seeing. Bill was twice as strong as him, but Ben seemed to have the upper hand. Just yesterday, Eddie had seen Bill beat up that huge guy at the bar. And the other night, outside the library, Richie and Bill had seemed evenly matched. Eddie marveled at Ben. Now he had Bill pinned to the ground and was twisting his arm back. “Uncle?” he taunted. “Just say the magic word. I’ll let you go.”

“Never,” Bill spat into the ground.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Ben said, and shoved Bill’s head down into the dirt, hard.

Richie put his hand on Eddie’s neck. He relaxed against him and looked back, terrified to see Richie’s expression. He must hate Eddie right now.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie whispered. “Bill, he—”

“Why would you come here to meet him?” Richie sounded hurt and incensed at the same time. He grabbed Eddie’s chin to make him look at him. His fingers were freezing against Eddie’s skin. His eyes were all blue, no gray.

Eddie’s lip quivered. “I thought I could take care of it. Be up-front with Bill so that you and I could just be together and not have to worry about anything else.”

Richie snorted, and Eddie realized how stupid he sounded.

“That kiss…,” Eddie said, wringing his hands. He wanted to spit it from his mouth. “It was such a huge mistake.”

Richie closed his eyes and turned away. Twice he opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. He gripped his hair in his hands and swayed. Watching him, Eddie feared he might cry. Finally, he took Eddie in his arms.

“Are you mad at me?” Eddie buried his face in Richie’s chest and breathed in the sweet smell of his skin.

“I’m just glad we got here in time.”

The sound of Bill’s whimpers made both of them glance over. Then grimace. Richie took Eddie’s hand and tried to pull him away, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Ben, who had Bill in a headlock and wasn’t even winded. Bill looked battered and pathetic. It just didn’t make any sense.

“What’s going on, Richie?” Eddie whispered. “How can Ben kick the crap out of Bill? Why is Bill letting him?”

Richie half sighed, half chuckled. “Bill’s not letting him. What you’re seeing is only a sample of what that boy can do.”

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t understand. How—”

Richie stroked his cheek. “Will you take a walk with me?” he asked. “I’m going to explain things, but I think you should probably sit down.”

Eddie had a few things of his own to come clean about to Richie. Or, if not to come clean about, at least to throw out into the conversation, to see if Richie showed signs of thinking Eddie was completely, verifiably deranged. That violet light, for one thing. And the dreams he couldn’t—didn’t want to—stop.

Richie led him toward a part of the cemetery Eddie had never seen before, a clear, flat space where two peach trees had grown together. Their trunks bowed toward each other, forming the outline of a heart in the air below them.

Richie led him under the strange, gnarled coupling of the branches and took his hands, tracing Eddie’s fingers with his.

The evening was quiet except for the song of crickets. Eddie imagined all the other students in the dining hall. Spooning mashed potatoes onto their trays, slurping thick room-temperature milk through a straw. It was as if, all of a sudden, he and Richie were on a different plane of being from the rest of the school. Everything but Richie’s hand around his, his hair shining in the light of the setting sun, his warm gray eyes—everything else felt so far away.

“I don’t know where to start,” Richie said, pressing harder as he massaged Eddie’s fingers, like he could rub the answer out. “There’s so much to tell you, and I have to get it right.”

As much as he wanted Richie’s words to be a simple confession of love, Eddie knew better. Richie had something difficult to say, something that might explain a lot about him, but might also be hard for Eddie to hear.

“Maybe do one of those I-have-good-news-and-bad-news kind of things?” Eddie suggested.

“Good idea. Which do you want first?”

“Most people want the good news first.”

“Maybe so,” Richie said. “But you are worlds away from most people.”

“Okay, I’ll take the bad news first.”

Richie bit his lip. “Then promise me you won’t leave before I get to the good news?”

Eddie had no plans to leave. Not now, now that Richie was no longer pushing him away. Not when Richie might be about to offer up some answers to the long list of questions he’d been obsessing over for the past few weeks.

Richie brought Eddie’s hands to his chest and held them against his heart. “I’m going to tell you the truth,” he said. “You won’t believe me, but you deserve to know. Even if it kills you.”

“Okay.” A raw knot of pain took hold of Eddie’s insides, and he could feel his knees start to shake. He was glad when Richie made him sit down.

Richie paced back and forth, then took a deep breath. “In the Bible…”

Eddie groaned. He couldn’t help it; he had a knee-jerk reaction to Sunday school talk. Besides, he wanted to discuss the two of them, not some moralistic parable. The Bible wasn’t going to hold the answers to any of the questions he had about Richie.

“Just listen,” Richie said, shooting Eddie a look. “In the Bible, you know how God makes a big deal about how everyone should love him with all their soul? How it has to be unconditional, and unrivaled?”

Eddie shrugged. “I guess.”

“Well—” Richie seemed to be searching for the right words. “That request doesn’t only apply to people.”

“What do you mean? Who else? Animals”

“Sometimes, sure,” Richie said. “Like the serpent. He was damned after he tempted Eve. Cursed to slither on the ground forever.”

Eddie shivered, thinking back to Bill. The snake. Their picnic. That bracelet. He rubbed at his clean, bare wrist, glad to be rid of it.

Richie ran his fingers down Eddie’s hair, along his jawline, and into the hollow of his neck. Eddie sighed, in a state of bliss. 

“I’m trying to say… I guess you could say I’m damned, too, Eddie. I’ve been damned for a long, long time.” Richie spoke as if the words tasted bitter. “I made a choice once, a choice I believed in—that I still believe in, even though—”

“I don’t understand,” Eddie said, shaking his head.

“Of course you don’t,” Richie said, dropping down onto the ground next to Eddie. “And I don’t have the best track record at explaining it to you.” He scratched his head and lowered his voice, like he was speaking to himself. “But all I can do is try. Here goes nothing.”

“Okay,” Eddie said. Richie was confusing him, and he’d barely even said anything yet. But Eddie tried to act less lost than he felt.

“I fall in love,” Richie explained, taking Eddie’s hands and holding them tightly. “Over and over again. And each time, it ends catastrophically.”

“Over and over again.” The words made him ill. Eddie closed his eyes and withdrew his hands. Richie had already told him this. That day at the lake. He’d had breakups. He’d been burned. Why bring up those other people now? It had hurt then and it hurt even more now, like a sharp pain in Eddie’s ribs. Richie squeezed his fingers.

“Look at me,” Richie pleaded. “Here’s where it goes hard.”

Eddie opened his eyes.

“The person I fall in love with each time is you.”

Eddie had been holding his breath, and meant to exhale, but it came out as a sharp, cutting laugh.

“Right, Richie,” he said, starting to stand up. “Wow, you really are damned. That sounds horrible.”

“Listen.” Richie pulled him back down with a force that made Eddie’s shoulder throb. His eyes flashed blue and Eddie could tell Richie was getting angry. Well, so was he.

Richie looked up into the peach tree canopy, as if for help. “I’m begging you, let me explain.” His voice quaked. “The problem isn’t loving you.”

Eddie took a deep breath. “What is it?” He willed himself to listen, to be stronger and not to feel hurt. Richie looked like he was broken up enough for both of them.

“I get to live forever,” he said.

The trees rustled around them, and Eddie noticed the faintest trickle of a shadow out of the corner of his eye. Not the sick, all-consuming swirl of blackness from the bar last night, but a warning. The shadow was keeping its distance, seething coldly around the corner, but it was waiting. For him. Eddie felt a deep chill, down in his bones. He couldn’t shake the sensation that something colossal, black as night, something final was on its way.

“I’m sorry,” he said, dragging his eyes back to Richie. “Could you, um, say that again?”

“I get to live forever,” he repeated. Eddie was still lost, but Richie kept talking, a stream of words pouring out of his mouth. “I get to live, and watch babies being born, and grow up, and fall in love. I watch them die. I am condemned, Eddie, to watch it all over again and again. Everyone but you.” His eyes were glassy. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You don’t get to fall in love—”

“But…,” Eddie whispered back. “I’ve… fallen in love.”

“You don’t get to have children and grow old, Eddie.”

“Why not?”

“You come along every seventeen years.”

“Please—”

“We meet. We always meet, somehow we’re always thrown together, no matter where I go, no matter how I try to distance myself from you. It never matters. You always find me.”

Richie was staring down at his clenched fists now, looking like he wanted to hit something, unable to raise his eyes.

“And every time we meet, you fall for me—”

“Richie—”

“I can resist you or flee from you or try my hardest not to respond to you, but it makes no difference. You fall in love with me, and I with you.”

“Is that so terrible?”

“And it kills you.”

“Stop it!” Eddie cried. “What are you trying to do? Scare me away?”

“No.” Richie snorted. “It wouldn’t work, anyway.”

“If you don’t want to be with me…,” Eddie said, hoping that it was all an elaborate joke, a breakup speech to end all breakup speeches, and not the truth. It could not be the truth. “…there’s probably a more believable story to tell.”

“I know you can’t believe me. This is why I couldn’t tell you until now, when I have to tell you. Because I thought I understood the rules and… we kissed, and now I don’t understand anything.”

Richie’s words from the night before came back to Eddie: I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know what to do.

“Because you kissed me.”

Richie nodded.

“You kissed me and when we were done, you were surprised.”

Richie nodded again, having the grace to look a little sheepish.

“You kissed me,” Eddie continued, searching for a way to put it all together, “and you thought I wasn’t going to survive it?”

“Based on previous experience,” Richie said hoarsely. “Yes.”

“That’s just crazy,” Eddie said.

“It’s not about the kiss this time, it’s about what it means. In some lives we can kiss, but in most we can’t.” He stroked Eddie’s cheek, and he wrestled with how good it felt. “I must say, I prefer the lives where we can kiss.” Richie looked down. “Though it does make losing you that much harder.”

Eddie wanted to be mad at him. For making up such a bizarre story when they should have been locked in an embrace. But something was there, like an itch at the back of his mind, telling him not to run from Richie now, but to stick around and listen as long as he could.

“When you lose me,” Eddie said, feeling out the shape of the word in his mouth. “How does it happen? Why?”

“It depends on you, on how much you can see about our past, on how well you’ve come to know me, who I am.” Richie tossed his hands up in a shrug. “I know this sounds incredibly—”

“Crazy?”

Richie smiled. “I was going to say vague. But I’m trying not to hide anything from you. It’s just a very, very delicate subject. Sometimes, in the past, just talking lik

e this has…”

Eddie watched for the shape of the words on his lips, but Richie wouldn’t say anything.

“Killed me?”

“I was going to say ‘broken my heart.’”

Richie was in obvious pain, and Eddie wanted to comfort him. He could feel himself drawn, something in his chest tugging him forward. But he couldn’t. That was when he felt certain that Richie knew about the glowing violet light. That he had everything to do with it.

“What are you?” Eddie asked. “Some kind of—”

“I wander the earth always knowing at the back of my mind that you’re coming. I used to look for you. But then, when I started hiding from you—from the heartbreak I knew was inevitable—you started seeking me out. It didn’t take long to realize that you came around every seventeen years.”

Eddie’s seventeenth birthday had been in late August, two weeks before he enrolled at Sword & Cross. It had been a sad celebration, just Eddie, his parents, and a store-bought cake. There were no candles, just in case. And what about his family? Did they come back every seventeen years, too?

“It’s not long enough for me to ever have gotten over the last time,” Richie said. “Just long enough that I would let my guard down again.”

“So you knew I was coming?” Eddie asked dubiously. Richie looked serious, but Eddie still couldn’t believe him. He didn’t want to.

Richie shook his head. “Not the day you showed up. It’s not like that. Don’t you remember my reaction when I saw you?” He looked up, like he was thinking back on it himself. “For the first few seconds every time, I’m always so elated. I forgot myself. Then I remember.”

“Yes,” Eddie said slowly. “You smiled, and then… is that why you flipped me off?”

Richie frowned.

“But if this happens every seventeen years like you say,” Eddie said, “you still knew I was coming. In some sense, you knew.”

“It’s complicated, Eddie.”

“I saw you that day, before you saw me. You were laughing with Mike outside Augustine. You were laughing so hard I was jealous. If you know all this, Richie, if you’re so smart that you can predict when I’m going to come, and when I’m going to die, and how hard all of that is going to be for you, how could you laugh like that? I don’t believe you,” Eddie said, feeling his voice tremble. “I don’t believe any of this.”

Richie gently pressed his thumb to Eddie’s eye to wipe away a tear. “It’s such a beautiful question, Eddie. I adore you for asking it, and I wish I could explain it better. All I can tell you is this: The only way to survive eternity is to be able to appreciate each moment. That’s all I was doing.”

“Eternity,” Eddie repeated. “Yet another thing I wouldn’t understand.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t laugh like that anymore. As soon as you show up, I’m overtaken.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Eddie said, wanting to leave before it got too dark. But Richie’s story was so much more than nonsensical. The whole time he’d been at Sword & Cross, he’d half believed he was crazy. His madness paled in comparison to Richie’s.

“There’s no manual for how to explain this… thing to the boy you love,” Richie pleaded, brushing Eddie’s hair with his fingers. “I’m doing the best I can. I want you to believe me, Eddie. What do I need to do?”

“Tell a different story,” he said bitterly. “Make up a saner excuse.”

“You said yourself you felt as if you knew me. I tried to deny it as long as I could because I knew this would happen.”

“I felt I knew you from somewhere, sure,” Eddie said. Now his voice was clotted with fear. “Like the mall or summer camp or something. Not some former life.” He shook his head. “No… I can’t.”

He covered his ears. Richie uncovered them.

“And yet you know in your heart it’s true.” Richie clasped Eddie’s knees and looked him deeply in the eye. “You knew it when I followed you to the top of Corcovado in Rio, when you wanted to see the statue up close. You knew it when I carried you two sweaty miles to the River Jordan after you got sick outside Jerusalem. I told you not to eat all those dates. You knew it when you were my nurse in that Italian hospital during the first World War, and before that when I hid in your cellar during the tsar’s purge of St. Petersburg. When I scaled the turret of your castle in Scotland during the Reformation, and danced you around and around at the king’s coronation ball at Versailles. You were the only man dressed in black. There was that artists’ colony in Quintana Roo, and the protest march in Cape Town where we both spent the night in the pen. The opening of the Globe Theatre in London. We had the best seats in the house. And when my ship wrecked in Tahiti, you were there, as you were when I was convict in Melbourne, and a pickpocket in eighteenth-century Nîmes, and a monk in Tibet. You turn up everywhere, always, and sooner or later you sense all the things I’ve just told you. But you won’t let yourself accept what you feel might be the truth.”

Richie stopped to catch his breath and looked past Eddie, unseeing. Then he reached over, pressing his hand to Eddie’s knee and sending that fire through him again.

Eddie closed his eyes, and when he opened them, Richie was holding the most perfect white peony. It practically glowed. Eddie turned to see where he had plucked it from, how he hadn’t noticed it before. There were only weeds and the rotting flesh of fallen fruit. They held the flower together.

“You knew it when you picked white peonies every day for a month that summer in Helston. Remember that?” Richie stared at him, like he was trying to see inside Eddie. “No,” he sighed after a moment. “Of course you don’t. I envy you for that.”

But even as he said it, Eddie’s skin began to feel warm, as if it were responding to the words his brain didn’t know what to make of. Part of him wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

“I do all of these things,” Richie said, leaning into him so that their foreheads touched, “because you’re my love, Edward. For me, you’re all there is.”

Eddie’s lower lip was trembling. His hands went slack in Richie’s. The flower petals sifted through their fingers to the ground.

“Then why do you look so sad?”

It was all too much to even begin to think about. He leaned away from Richie and stood up, wiping the leaves and grass from his jeans. His head was spinning. He had lived… before?

“Eddie.”

He waved Richie off. “I think I need to go somewhere, by myself, to lie down.” He leaned his weight on the peach tree. He felt weak.

“You’re not okay,” Richie said, standing up and taking Eddie’s hand.

“No.”

“I’m so sorry.” Richie sighed. “I don’t know what I expected to happen, telling you. I shouldn’t have…”

Eddie would never have thought a moment could come when he’d need a break from Richie, but he had to get away. The way Richie was looking at him, Eddie could tell he wanted him to say he would find him later, that they would talk about things more, but Eddie was no longer sure that was a good idea. The more Richie said, the more he felt something waking up inside him—something he wasn’t sure he was ready for. He didn’t feel crazy anymore—and he wasn’t sure Richie was, either. To anyone else, his explanation would have made less and less sense as it went along. To Eddie… he wasn’t sure yet, but what if Richie’s words were answers that could make sense out of his whole life? Eddie didn’t know. He felt more afraid than he ever had before.

Eddie shook his hand loose and started toward his dorm. A few strides away, he stopped and slowly turned.

Richie hadn’t moved. “What is it?” he asked, lifting his chin.

Eddie stood where he was, at a distance from Richie. “I promised you I’d stick around long enough to hear the good news.”

Richie’s face relaxed into an almost-smile. But there was something vexed about his expression. “The good news is”—he paused, carefully choosing his words— “I kissed you, and you’re still here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So because of everything going on in the US right now updates won’t be as frequent and I’m sorry about that but my main focus is on the blm movement right now. As a white person it is my job to use my privilege to spread awareness and help to the best of my ability. I fully support all Black people throughout this movement and ALWAYS because just because this is happening now doesn’t mean it wasn’t before or won’t continue after. As Americans we need to be equal but before equality we need equity. Black people deserve to be heard and have rights because they are humans too. Not only do they deserve it but it should be expected. There is no reason they should be treated they way they are and I think the protests and donations are a great way to get their voices heard. Please try to help in any way you can by spreading awareness, join and protect protestors, donate and sign petitions. Here is a link to where you can donate and sign petitions:  
> https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/
> 
> Also it is June 1st so it is officially pride month and I know it is important but during this time period Black people need our help and attention more so we can still celebrate but focus more on the black lgbtq+ people in the community and show love for them during this time in history.  
> Happy Pride Month!


	18. An Open Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie goes back to his room and finds what holds the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

Eddie collapsed on his bed, giving the weary springs a jolt. After he’d fled the cemetery—and Richie—he’d practically sprinted up to his room. He hadn’t even bothered to turn on a light, so he’d tripped over his desk chair and stubbed his toe hard. He’d curled into a ball and gripped his throbbing foot. At least the pain was something real that he could cope with, something sane and of this world. He was so glad to finally be alone.

There was a knock on his door.

He could not catch a break.

Eddie ignored the knock. He didn’t want to see anyone, and whoever it was would get the hint. Another knock. Heavy breathing and a phlegmy, allergy-ridden throat-clearing sound.

Penn.

He couldn’t see Penn right now. He’d either sound crazy if he tried to explain all that had happened to him in the last twenty-four hours, or he’d go crazy trying to put on a normal face and keep it to himself.

Finally, Eddie heard Penn’s footsteps treading away down the hallway. He breathed a sigh of relief, which turned into a long, lonely whimper.

He wanted to blame Richie for unleashing this out-of-control feeling inside him, and for a second, he tried to imagine his life without Richie. Except that was impossible. Like trying to remember your first impression of a house after you’ve lived in it for years. That was how much Richie had gotten to Eddie. And now he had to figure out a way to wade through all the strange things Richie had told him tonight.

But at the edge of his mind, he kept spiraling back to what Richie had said about the times they’d spent together in the past. Maybe Eddie couldn’t exactly remember the moments he’d described or the places he mentioned, but in a strange way, his words weren’t shocking at all. It was all somehow familiar.

For example, he had always inexplicably hated dates. Even the sight of them made him feel queasy. He’d started claiming he was allergic so his mom would stop trying to sneak them into things she baked. And he’d been begging his parents to take him to Brazil practically his whole life, though he never could explain why he wanted to go. The white peonies. Richie had given him a bouquet after the fire in the library. There had always been something so unusual about them, yet so familiar.

The sky outside his window was a deep charcoal, with just a few puffs of white cloud. His room was dark, but the pale full blooms of the flowers on his windowsill stood out in the dimness. They’d sat in their vase for a week now, and not a single petal had withered.

Eddie sat up and inhaled their sweetness.

He couldn’t blame Richie. Yes, he sounded crazy, but he was also right—Eddie was the one who had come to him again and again suggesting that they had some sort of history. And it wasn’t only that. Eddie was also the one who saw the shadows, the one who kept finding himself involved in the deaths of innocent people. He’d been trying not to think about Trevor and Todd when Richie started talking about his own deaths—how Richie had watched him die so many times. If there had been any way to fathom such a thing, Eddie would have wanted to ask whether Richie ever felt responsible. For the loss of him. Whether Richie’s reality was anything like the secret, ugly, overriding guilt Eddie faced every day.

He sank onto the desk chair, which had somehow made its way to the middle of the room. Ouch. When he reached underneath him, hand groping for whatever hard object he’d just plopped down on, he found a thick book.

Eddie moved to the wall and flicked on his light switch, then squinted in the ugly fluorescent light. The book in his hands was one he’d never seen before. It was bound in the palest gray cloth, with frayed corners and brown glue crumbling at the bottom of the spine.

The Watchers: Myth in Medieval Europe.

Richie’s ancestor’s book.

It was heavy and smelled faintly of smoke. He tugged out the note that was tucked inside the front cover.

Yes, I found a spare key and entered your room unlawfully. I’m sorry. But this is URGENT!!! And I couldn’t find you anywhere. Where are you? You need to look at this, and then we need to have a powwow. I’ll swing by in an hour. Proceed with caution.

Xoxo,

Penn

Eddie laid the note next to the flowers and took the book back to his bed. He sat down with his legs dangling over the edge. Just holding the book gave him a strange, warm buzzing sensation just below his skin. The book felt almost alive in his hands. 

He cracked it open, expecting to have to decode some stiff academic table of contents or dig through an index at the back before he’d find anything even remotely related to Richie.

He never got beyond the title page.

Pasted inside the front cover of the book was a sepia-toned photograph. It was a very old carte de visite-style picture, printed on yellowing albumen paper. Someone had scrawled in ink at the bottom: Helston, 1854.

Heat flashed across Eddie’s skin. He yanked his black sweater over his head but still felt hot in his T-shirt.

The memory of Richie’s voice sounded hollow in his mind. I get to live forever, he’d said. You come along every seventeen years. You fall in love with me, and I with you. And it kills you.

Eddie’s head throbbed.

You’re my love, Edward. For me, you’re all there is.

He fingered the outline of the picture glued inside the book. Eddie’s dad, the aspiring photography guru, would have marveled over how well-preserved the image was, how valuable it must be.

Eddie, on the other hand, was hung up on the people in the image. Because, unless every word out of Richie’s mouth had been true, it made no sense at all.

A young man, with dark curly hair and light eyes, posed elegantly in a trim black coat. His raised chin and well-defined cheekbones made his fine attire look even more distinguished, but it was his lips that gave Eddie such a start. The exact shape of his smile, combined with the look in those eyes… it added up to an expression that Eddie had seen in every one of his dreams these last few weeks. And, over the last couple of days, in person.

This man was the spitting image of Richie. The Richie who had just told Eddie that he loved him—and that Eddie had been reincarnated dozens of times. The Richie who had said so many other things Eddie didn’t want to hear that he had run away. The Richie whom he’d abandoned under the peach trees in the cemetery.

It could have been just a remarkable likeness. Some distant relative, the author of the book maybe, who’d funneled each one of his genes straight down the family tree right to Richie.

Except that the young man in the picture was posed next to another young man who also looked alarmingly familiar.

Eddie held the book inches from his face and pored over the man’s image. He wore a slick black coat that hugged his body to his waist before billowing out. His small teeth showed between his lips, which were parted in an easy smile. He had clear skin a few tones darker than the man’s. Deep-set eyes bordered by thick eyelashes. A brown flood of hair that fell in thick waves to his ears.

It took a moment for Eddie to remember how to breathe, and even then, he still couldn’t tear his strained eyes away from the book. The man in the photograph?

It was him.

Either Eddie had been right, and his memory of Richie had come from a forgotten trip to a mall, where they’d posed for a cheesy dress-up shots at a photo booth that neither of them could remember—or Richie had been telling the truth.

Eddie and Richie did know one another.

From an altogether different time.

Eddie could not catch his breath. His whole life tossed in the roiling sea of his mind, everything came into question—the itchy dark shadows that haunted him, the gruesome death of Trevor, the dreams…

He had to find Penn. If anyone could come up with an explanation for such an impossible occurrence, it would be Penn. With the inscrutable old book tucked under his arm, Eddie left his room and raced toward the library.

The library was warm and empty, but something about the high ceilings and endless rows of books made Eddie nervous. He walked quickly past the new call desk, which still looked sterile and unlived in. He passed the formidable unused card catalog and the endless reference section until he had reached the long tables in the group study section.

Instead of Penn, Eddie found Beverly, playing a game of chess with Mike. She had her feet up on the table and was wearing a striped conductor’s cap. Her hair was tucked under the hat, and Eddie noticed again, for the first time since the morning he’d cut Beverly’s hair, the glossy, marbled scar along her neck.

Beverly was fixated on the game. A chocolate cigar bobbed between her lips as she contemplated her next move. Mike was giving Beverly the hawk eye, tapping one of his pawns with his pinky.

“Checkmate, bitch,” Beverly said triumphantly, knocking over Mike’s king, just as Eddie thudded to a stop in front of their table. “Eddie,” she sang, looking up. “You’ve been hiding from me.”

“No.”

“I’ve been hearing things about you,” Beverly said, causing Mike to tilt his head attentively. “Nudge nudge, wink wink. That means sit down and spill. Right now.”

Eddie hugged the book to his chest. He didn’t want to sit down. He wanted to scour the library for Penn. He couldn’t make small talk with Beverly—especially not in front of Mike, who was clearing his things off the seat next to him.

“Join us,” Mike said.

Eddie lowered himself reluctantly onto the edge of the seat. He’d just stay a few minutes. It was true that he hadn’t seen Beverly in a few days, and under normal circumstances, he would really have missed the girl’s bizarre ways.

But these were far from normal circumstances, and Eddie could think of nothing other than that photograph.

“Since I just wiped the chessboard with Mike’s ass, let’s play a new game. How about ‘who saw an incriminating photo of Eddie the other day?’” Beverly said, crossing her arms on the table. 

“What?” Eddie jumped back. He pressed his hand down firmly on the cover of the book, feeling certain that his tense expression was giving everything away. He should never have brought it here.

“I’ll give you three guesses,” Beverly said, rolling her eyes. “Stan snapped a picture of you ducking into a big black car yesterday after class.”

“Oh.” Eddie sighed.

“He was going to turn you in to Randy,” Beverly continued. “Until I gave him what for. Mmm-hmm.” She snapped her fingers. “Now, to show your gratitude, tell me—are they sneaking you away to see an off-campus shrink?” She lowered her voice to a whisper and tapped her fingernails on the table. “Or have you taken a lover?”

Eddie glanced at Mike, who was giving him a fixed stare.

“Neither,” he said. “I just left for a little while to have a talk with Bill. It didn’t go exactly—”

“Bam! Pay up, Bev,” Mike said, grinning. “You owe me ten bucks.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped.

Beverly patted his hand. “No big deal, we just made a little wager to keep things interesting. I assumed it was Richie you’d gone off with. Mike here picked Bill. You’re breaking my bank, Eddie. I don’t like it.”

“I was with Richie,” Eddie said, not really knowing why he felt the need to correct them. Didn’t they have anything better to do with their lives than sit around wondering what he did on his own time?

“Oh,” Mike said, sounding disappointed. “The plot thickens.”

“Mike.” Eddie turned to him. “I need to ask you something.”

“Talk to me.” He pulled a notepad and pen out of his black-and-white pinstriped blazer. He held the pen poised over the paper, like a waiter taking an order. “What do you want? Coffee? Booze? I only get the hard stuff on Fridays. Dirty magazines?”

“Thigars?” Beverly offered, lisping through the chocolate one in her mouth.

“No.” Eddie shook his head. “None of that.”

“Okay, special order. I felt the catalog up in the room.” Mike shrugged. “You can come by later—”

“I don’t need you to get me anything. I just want to know—” He swallowed dryly. “You’re friends with Richie, right?”

Mike shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“But do you trust him?” Eddie asked. “I mean, if he told you something that sounded crazy, how likely would you be to believe him?”

Mike squinted at him, seeming momentarily stumped, but Beverly quickly hopped up on the table and swung her legs over to Eddie’s side. “What exactly are we talking about?”

Eddie stood up. “Never mind.” He should never have raised the subject. The whole mess of details came rushing back to him. He grabbed the book from the table. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

He pushed his chair in and walked away. His legs felt heavy and dull, his mind overloaded. A breath of wind lifted the hair at the back of his neck and his head darted around in search of shadows. Nothing. Just an open window high up near the library rafters. Just a tiny birds nest tucked into the windows narrow open corner. Scanning the library again, Eddie found it hard to believe his eyes. There really was no sign of them, no inky black tendrils or shuddering gray weather system roiling overhead—but Eddie could feel their distinct closeness, could almost smell their salty sulfur in the air. Where were they, if not haunting him? He’d always though of them as his alone. He’d never considered that the shadows might go other places, do other things—torment other people. Did Richie see them, too?

Rounding the corner toward the computer station at the back of the library, where he thought he might find Penn, Eddie ran smack into Miss Sophia. Both of them stumbled, and Miss Sophia caught Eddie to steady herself. She was dressed in fashionable jeans and a long white blouse, with a beaded red cardigan tied around her shoulders. Her metallic green glasses hung from a multicolored bead chain around her neck. Eddie was surprised at how firm her grip was.

“Excuse me,” Eddie mumbled.

“Why, Edward, what’s the matter?” Miss Sophia pressed a palm to Eddie’s forehead. The baby powder smell of her hands filled Eddie’s nose. “You don’t look well.”

Eddie swallowed, willing himself not to burst into tears just because the nice librarian was taking pity on him. “I’m not well.”

“I knew it,” Miss Sophia said. “You missed class today and you weren’t at the Social last night. Do you need to see a doctor? If my first-aid kit hadn’t been burned up in the fire. I’d take your temperature right here.”

“No, well, I don’t know.” Eddie held the book out in front of him and contemplated telling Miss Sophia everything, starting from the beginning… which was when?

Only, he didn’t have to. Miss Sophia took one glance at the book, sighed, and gave Eddie a knowing look. “You finally found it, didn’t you? Come, let’s have a talk.”

Even the librarian knew more than Eddie did about his life. Lives? He couldn’t figure out what any of it meant, or how any of it was possible.

He followed Miss Sophia to a table at the back corner of the study section. He could still see Beverly and Mike from the corner of his eye, but they seemed at least to be out of earshot.

“How did you come across this?” Miss Sophia patted Eddie’s hand and slipped her glasses on. Her small black-pearl eyes twinkled behind the bifocal’s frames. “Don’t worry. You’re not it trouble, dear.”

“I don’t know. Penn and I had been looking for it. It was stupid. We thought maybe the author was related to Richie, but we didn’t know for sure. Whenever we went to look for it, it seemed like it had just been checked out. Then, when I came home tonight, Penn had left it in my room—”

“So Pennyweather knows about its contents as well?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie said, shaking his head. He could feel himself rambling, and yet he couldn’t make himself shut up. Miss Sophia was like the cool, zany grandmother Eddie had never had. His own grandmother’s idea of a big shopping trip was going to the grocery store. Besides, it felt so good just to talk to someone. “I haven’t been able to find her yet, only because I was with Richie, and usually he acts so weird, but last night he kissed me, and we stayed out until—”

“Excuse me, dear,” Miss Sophia said, a little too loudly, “but did you just say Richard Tozier kissed you?”

Eddie covered his mouth with both hands. He could not believe he’d just spilled that to Miss Sophia. He must really be losing it. “I’m sorry, that’s completely irrelevant. And embarrassing. I don’t know why that slipped out.” He fanned his burning cheeks.

Already it was too late. Across the study section, Beverly boomed at Eddie, “Thanks for telling me!” Her face looked stunned.

But Miss Sophia snapped Eddie’s attention back when she shook the book from Eddie’s hands. “A kiss between you and Richard is not only irrelevant, dear, it’s usually impossible.” She stroked her chin and looked up at the ceiling. “Which means… well, it couldn’t mean…”

Miss Sophia’s fingers started flying through the book, tracing down each page at a miraculously rapid pace.

“What do you mean, ‘usually’?” Eddie had never felt so left out of his own life.

“Forget the kiss.” Miss Sophia waved her hand at Eddie, taking him aback. “That’s not half of it. The kiss doesn’t mean anything unless…” She muttered under her breath and went back to flipping through the pages.

What did Miss Sophia know? Richie’s kiss meant everything. Eddie watched Miss Sophia’s flying fingers dubiously until something on one of the pages caught his eye.

“Go back,” Eddie said, laying his hand over Miss Sophia’s to stop her.

Miss Sophia leaned slowly away as Eddie turned back the thin, translucent pages. There. He pressed a hand to his heart. In the margin was a series of drawings sketched in blackest ink. Quickly done, but in an elegant, fine hand. By someone with a certain talent. Eddie ran his fingers over the drawings, taking them in. The slope of a man’s shoulder, seen from the back, his hair neatly swept to the side. Soft bare knees crossed over each other, leading up to a shadowy waist. A long, thin wrist giving way to an open palm in which a large, full peony rested.

Eddie’s fingers started to tremble. A lump rose in his throat. He didn’t know why this, out of everything he’d seen and heard today, was beautiful enough—tragic enough—to finally bring him to tears. The shoulder, the knees, the wrist… all were his own. And he knew—all of them had been drawn by Richie’s hand.

“Edward.” Miss Sophia looked nervous, slowly inching her chair away from the table. “Are you—are you feeling quite all right?”

“Oh, Richie,” Eddie whispered, desperate to be near him again. He wiped away a tear.

“He’s damned, Edward,” Miss Sophia said in a surprisingly cold voice. “You both are.”

Damned. Richie had spoken of being damned. That was his word for all of this. But he’d been referring to himself. Not Eddie.

“Damned?” Eddie repeated. Only, he didn’t want to hear any more. All he wanted was to find Richie.

Miss Sophia snapped her fingers in front of Eddie’s face. Eddie met her eyes, slowly, languidly, smiling dopily.

“You’re still not awake,” Miss Sophia murmured. She closed the book with a smack, catching Eddie’s attention, and laid her hands down on the table. “Has he told you anything? After the kiss, maybe?”

“He told me…,” Eddie started. “It sounds crazy.”

“These things often do.”

“He said the two of us… we’re some kind of star-crossed lovers.” Eddie closed his eyes, remembering Richie’s long catalog of past lives. At first the idea had felt so foreign, but now that he was getting used to it, he thought it might just be the most romantic thing that had ever happened in the history of the world. “He talked about all the times we’ve fallen in love, in Rio, and Jerusalem, Tahiti—”

“That does sound rather crazy,” Miss Sophia said. “So, of course, you don’t believe him?”

“I didn’t at first,” Eddie said, thinking back to their heated disagreement under the peach tree. “He started out by bringing up the Bible, which my instinct is to tune out—” He bit his tongue. “No offense. I mean, I think your class is really interesting.”

“None taken. People often shy away from their religious upbringings around your age. You’re nothing new, Edward.”

“Oh.” Eddie cracked his knuckles. “But I didn’t have a religious upbringing. My parents didn’t believe in it, so—”

“Everyone believes in something. Surely you were baptized?”

“Not if you don’t count the swimming pool built under the church pews over there,” Eddie said timidly, jerking his thumb toward Sword & Cross’s gym.

Yeah, he celebrated Christmas, he’d been to church a handful of times, and even when his life made him and everyone around him miserable, he still had faith that there was someone or something up there worth believing in. That had always been enough for him.

Across the room, he heard a loud clatter. He looked up to see that Mike had fallen out of his chair. The last time Eddie had glanced at him, he’d been leaning back on two legs, and now it looked like gravity had finally won.

As Mike stumbled to his feet, Beverly went to help him. She glanced over and offered a hurried wave. “He’s okay!” she called cheerily. “Get up!” she whispered loudly to Mike.

Miss Sophia was sitting very still, with her hands in her lap under the table. She cleared her throat a few times, flipped back to the front cover of the book and ran her fingers over the photograph, then said, “Did he reveal anything more? Do you know who Richard is?”

Slowly, sitting up very straight in his chair, Eddie asked, “Do you?”

The librarian stiffened. “I study these things. I’m an academic. I don’t get tangled up in trivial matters of the heart.”

Those were the words she used—but everything from the pulsing vein along her neck, to the almost unnoticeably light sheen of sweat dotting her brow told Eddie that the answer to his question was yes.

Over their heads, the giant black antique clock struck eleven. The minute hand trembled with the effort of snapping into its place, and the whole contraption gonged for so long it interrupted their conversation. Eddie had never noticed how loud the clock was. Now, each chime made him ache. He’d been away from Richie for too long.

“Richie thought…,” Eddie started to say. “Last night, when we first kissed, he thought was going to die.” Miss Sophia didn’t look as surprised as Eddie would have like her to look. Eddie cracked his knuckles. “But that’s crazy, isn’t it? I’m not going anywhere.”

Miss Sophia took off her bifocals and rubbed her tiny eyes. “For now.”

“Oh God,” Eddie whispered, feeling the same wash of fear that had made him leave Richie in the cemetery. But why? There was something Richie still wasn’t telling him—something he knew had the power to make him either much more or much less afraid. Something he knew already on his own but couldn’t believe. Not until he saw Richie’s face again.

The book was still open to the photograph. Upside down, Richie’s smile looked worried, like he knew—as he said he always did—what was coming around the next corner. Eddie couldn’t imagine what he must be going through right now. To have opened up about the uncanny history they shared—only to have Eddie dismiss him so completely. He had to find Richie.

He shut the book and tucked it back under his elbow. Then he stood up and pushed in his chair.

“Where are you going?” Miss Sophia asked nervously.

“To find Richie.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No.” Eddie shook his head, imagining showing up to throw his arms around Richie with the school librarian in tow. “You don’t have to come. Really.”

Miss Sophia was all business when she bent down to double-knot the laces of her sensible shoes. She stood up and laid a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Trust me,” she said, “I do. Sword & Cross has a reputation to uphold. You don’t think we just let students run around willy-nilly in the night, do you?”

Eddie resisted filling Miss Sophia in on his recent escapade outside the school gates. He groaned inwardly. Why not bring along the whole student body so everyone could enjoy the drama? Stan could take pictures, Bill could pick another fight. Why not start right here, and pick up Beverly and Mike—who, he realized with a start, had already disappeared.

Miss Sophia, book in hand, had already taken off for the front entrance. Eddie had to jog to catch up to her, speeding past the card catalog, the singed Persian carpet at the front desk, and the glass cases full of Civil War relics in the east wing special collections, where he’d seen Richie sketching the cemetery the very first night he was here.

They stepped outside into the humid night. A cloud passed over the moon and the campus fell into inky blackness. Then, as if a compass had been placed in his hand, Eddie felt guided toward the shadows. He knew exactly where they were. Not at the library, but not far away, either.

He couldn’t see them yet, but he could feel them, which was so much worse. An awful, consuming itch coated his skin, seeping into his bones and bloodlike acid. Pooling, clotting, making the cemetery—and beyond—reek with their sulfur stink. They were so much bigger now. It seemed like all the air on campus was foul with their wretched stench of decay.

“Where is Richard?” Miss Sophia asked. Eddie realized that though the librarian might know quite a bit about the past, she seemed oblivious to the shadows. It made Eddie feel terrified and alone, responsible for whatever was about to happen.

“I don’t know,” Eddie said, feeling as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen in the thick, swampy night air. He didn’t want to say the words he knew would bring them closer—far too close—to everything that was making him so afraid. But he had to go to Richie. “I left him in the cemetery.”

They hurried across campus, dodging patches of mud left over from the downpour the other day. Only a few lights were on in the dormitory to their right. Through one of the barred windows, Eddie saw a girl he barely knew poring over a book. They were in the same morning block of classes. She was a tough-looking girl with a pierced septum and the tiniest sneeze—but Eddie had never heard her speak. He had no idea if she was miserable or if she enjoyed her life. Eddie wondered at that moment: If he could trade places with this girl—who never had to worry about past lives, or apocalyptic shadows, or the deaths of two innocent boys on her hands—would he do it?

Richie’s face—the way it had been bathed in violet light when he’d carried Eddie home this morning—appeared before his eyes. His gleaming black hair. His tender, knowing eyes. The way one touch of his lips transported Eddie far away from any darkness. For him, Eddie would suffer all of this, and more.

If only Eddie knew how much more there was.

He and Miss Sophia jogged forward, past the creaking bleachers framing the commons, then past the soccer field. Miss Sophia really kept in shape. Eddie would have worried about their pace if the woman hadn’t been a few steps ahead of him.

Eddie was dragging. His fear of facing the shadows was like a hurricane-force headwind slowing him down. And yet he pressed on. An overwhelming nausea told him that he’d barely glimpsed what the dark things could accomplish.

At the cemetery gates, they stopped. Eddie was trembling, hugging himself in a failed attempt to hide it. A girl was standing with her back to them, gazing into the graveyard below.

“Penn!” Eddie called, so glad to see his friend.

When Penn turned to them, her face was ashen. She wore a black Windbreaker, despite the heat, and her glasses were fogging up from the humidity. She was trembling just as much as Eddie was.

Eddie gasped. “What happened?”

“I was coming to look for you,” Penn said, “and then a bunch of the other kids ran this way. They went down there.” She pointed toward the gates. “But I c-c-couldn’t.”

“What is it?” Eddie asked. “What’s down there?”

But even as he asked, he knew one thing that was down there, one thing that Penn would never be able to see. The curdling black shadow was coaxing Eddie toward it, Eddie alone.

Penn was blinking rapidly. She looked terrified. “Dunno,” she said finally. “At first I thought fireworks. But nothing ever made it to the sky.” She shuddered. “Something bad is about to happen. I don’t know what.”

Eddie breathed in and coughed on a deep whiff of sulfur. “How, Penn? How do you know?”

Penn’s arm shook as she pointed into the deep bowl in the middle of the cemetery. “See that?” she said. “Something’s flickering down there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone liked this chapter. This story is so close to the end


	19. The Buried War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some major things happen in this chapter, so read to find out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: story idea is not mine. This story belongs to Lauren Kate. I am simply changing the characters to be a reddie au.

***

Eddie took one look at the shuddering light at the base of the cemetery and started racing toward it. He hurtled down past the broken headstones, leaving Penn and Miss Sophia far behind. He didn’t care that the sharp, twisting limbs of the live oak trees scratched his arms and face as he ran, or that clumps of thick-rooted weeds tripped up his feet.

He had to get down there.

The waning silver of moon offered little light, but there was another source—coming from the bottom of the cemetery. His destination. It looked like a monstrous, cloud-ridden lightning storm. Only it was happening on the ground.

The shadows had been warning him, he realized, for days. Now their dark show had turned into something even Penn could see. And the other students who’d run ahead must have noticed it, too. Eddie didn’t know what it could possibly mean. Only that if Richie was down there with that sinister flickering… it was all Eddie’s fault.

His lungs burned, but he was driven forward by the image of Richie standing under the peach trees. Eddie wouldn’t stop until he found him—because he’d been coming to find Richie anyway, to shove the book under his nose and cry out that he believed him, that part of him had believed Richie all along, but he’d been too scared to accept their unfathomable history. He would tell Richie that he wasn’t going to let his fear drive him away, not this time, not anymore. Because Eddie knew something, understood something that had taken him far too long to piece together. Something wild and strange that made their past experiences together both more and less believable. He knew who—no, what Richie was. Part of Eddie had come to this realization on his own—that he might have lived before and loved Richie before. Only, he hadn’t understood what it meant, what it all added up to—the pull he felt toward Richie, his dreams—until now.

But none of that mattered if Eddie couldn’t get down there in time to find some way to fend off the shadows. None of it mattered if they got to Richie before he could. He tore down the steep tiers of graves, but the basin at the center of the cemetery was still so far away.

Behind him, a thumping of footsteps. Then a shrill voice.

“Pennyweather!” It was Miss Sophia. She was gaining on Eddie, calling back over her shoulder, where Eddie could see Penn carefully working her way over a fallen tombstone. “You’re slower than Christmas coming!”

“No!” Eddie yelled. “Penn, Miss Sophia, don’t come down here!” He wouldn’t be responsible for putting anyone else in the shadows’ path.

Miss Sophia froze on a toppled white tombstone and stared up at the sky like she hadn’t heard Eddie at all. She raised her thin arms up in the air, as if to shield herself. Eddie squinted into the night and sucked in his breath. Something was moving toward them, blowing in with the chill wind.

At first he thought it was the shadows, but this was something different and scarier, like a jagged, irregular veil full of dark pockets, letting flecks of sky filter through. This shadow was made of a million tiny black pieces. A rioting, fluttering storm of darkness stretching out in all directions.

“Locusts?” Penn cried.

Eddie shuddered. The thick swarm was still at a distance, but its deep percussion grew louder with every passing second. Like the beating of a thousand birds’ wings. Like a hostile sweeping darkness scouring the earth. It was coming. It was going to lash out at him, maybe at all of them, tonight.

“This is not good!” Miss Sophia ranted at the sky. “There’s supposed to be an order to things!”

Penn came to a panting stop next to Eddie and the two of them exchanged a bewildered look. Sweat beaded Penn’s upper lip, and her purple glasses kept slipping down in the moist heat.

“She’s losing it,” Penn whispered, jerking her thumb at Miss Sophia.

“No.” Eddie shook his head. “She knows things. And if Miss Sophia’s scared, you shouldn’t be here, Penn.”

“Me?” Penn asked, bewildered, probably because ever since the first day of school, she had been the one guiding Eddie. “I don’t think either of us should be here.”

Eddie’s chest stung with a pain similar to what he’d felt when he had to say goodbye to Callie. He looked away from Penn. There was a split between them now, a deep division cutting them apart, because of Eddie’s past. He hated to own up to it, to call Penn’s attention to it, too, but he knew it would be better, safer, if they parted ways.

“I have to stay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I have to find Richie. You should go back to the dorm, Penn. Please.”

“But you and me,” Penn said hoarsely. “We were the only ones—”

Before Eddie could hear the end of the sentence, he took off toward the cemetery’s center. Toward the mausoleum where he’d seen Richie brooding on the evening of Parents’ Day. He bounded over the last of the tombstones, then skidded down a slope of dank, rotting mulch until the ground finally evened out. He came to a stop in front of the giant oak in the basin at the cemetery’s center.

Hot and frustrated and terrified all at once, he leaned against the tree trunk.

Then, through the branches of the tree, he saw him.

Richie.

Eddie let out all the air in his lungs and felt weak in the knees. One look at Richie’s distant, dark profile, so beautiful and majestic, told him that everything Richie had hinted at—even the one big thing he’d figured out on his own—everything was true.

Richie was standing atop the mausoleum, arms crossed, looking up where the roiling cloud of locusts had just passed overhead. The thin moonlight threw his shadow in a crescent of darkness that dipped off the crypt’s wide, flat roof. Eddie ran toward him, weaving through the dangling Spanish moss and the tilted old statues.

“Eddie!” Richie spied him as he neared the base of the mausoleum. “What are you doing here?” His voice showed no happiness to see Eddie—more like shock and horror.

It’s my fault, he wanted to cry as he approached the base of the mausoleum. And I believe it, I believe our story. Forgive me for ever leaving you, I never will again. There was one more thing Eddie wanted to tell him. But Richie was far above him, and the shadows’ horrible din was too loud, and the air was too soupy to try to make him hear Eddie from where he stood below him.

The tomb was solid marble. But there was a big chip in one of the bas-relief sculptures of a peacock, and Eddie used it as a toehold. The usually cool stone was warm to the touch. His sweaty palms slipped a few times as he strained to reach the top. To reach Richie, who had to forgive him.

Eddie had only scaled a few feet of the wall when someone tapped his shoulder. He spun around and gasped when he saw that it was Richie, and lost his grip. He caught Eddie, his arms circling his waist, before he could slide to the ground. But Richie had just been a full story overhead a second earlier.

He buried his face in Richie’s shoulder. And while the truth still scared him, being in Richie’s arms made him feel like the sea finding its shore, like a traveler returning after a long, hard, distant trip—finally returning home.

“You picked a fine time to come back,” Richie said. He smiled, but his smile was weighed down with worry. His eyes kept looking beyond Eddie, into the sky.

“You see it, too?” Eddie asked.

Richie just looked at him, unable to respond. His lip quivered.

“Of course you do,” Eddie whispered, because everything was coming together. The shadows, his story, their past. A choking cry welled up inside him. “How can you love me?” he sobbed. “How can you even stand me?”

Richie took his face in his hand. “What are you talking about? How can you say that?”

Eddie’s heart burned from racing so fast.

“Because…” He swallowed. “You’re an angel.”

Richie’s arms went slack. “What did you say?”

“You’re an angel, Richie, I know it,” Eddie said, feeling floodgates open within him, wider and wider until it all just tumbled out. “Don’t tell me I’m crazy. I have dreams about you, dreams that are too real to forget, dreams that made me love you before you ever said one nice thing to me.” Richie’s eyes didn’t change at all. “Dreams where you have wings and you hold me high up in a sky I don’t recognize, and yet I know I’ve been there, just like that, in your arms a thousand times before.” Eddie touched his forehead to Richie’s. “It explains so much—how graceful you are when you move, and the book your ancestor wrote. Why no one came to visit you on Parents’ Day. The way your body seems to float when you swim. And why, when you kiss me, I feel like I’ve gone to Heaven.” Eddie stopped to catch his breath. “And why you can live forever. The only thing it doesn’t explain is what on earth you’re doing with me. Because I’m just… me.” He looked up at the sky again, feeling the black spell of the shadows. “And I’m guilty of so much.”

The color was gone from Richie’s face. And Eddie could draw only one conclusion. “You don’t understand why, either,” he said.

“I don’t understand what you’re still doing here.”

Eddie blinked and nodded miserably, then began to turn away.

“No!” Richie pulled him back. “Don’t leave. It’s just that you’ve never—we’ve never… gotten this far.” He closed his eyes. “Will you say it again?” he asked, almost shyly. “Will you tell me… what I am?”

“You’re an angel,” Eddie repeated slowly, surprised to see Richie close his eyes. “I’m in love with an angel.” Now he was the one who wanted to close his eyes. Eddie tilted his head. “But in my dreams, your wings—”

A hot, howling wind swept sideways over them, practically swatting Eddie out of Richie’s arms. He shielded his body with Richie’s. The cloud of shadow-locusts had settled in the canopy of a tree beyond the cemetery and had been making sizzling noises in the branches. Now they rose up in one great mass.

“Oh God,” Eddie whispered. “I have to do something. I have to stop it—”

“Eddie.” Richie stroked his cheek. “Look at me. You have done nothing wrong. And there’s nothing you can do about”—he pointed— “that.” He shook his head. “Why would you ever think you were guilty?”

“Because,” Eddie said, “my whole life, I’ve been seeing these shadows—”

“I should have done something when I realized that, last week at the lake. It’s the first lifetime when you’ve see them—and it scared me.”

“How can you know it’s not my fault?” he asked, thinking of Todd and of Trevor. The shadows always came to him just before something awful happened.

Richie kissed his hair. “The shadows you see are called Announcers. They look bad, but they can’t hurt you. All they do is scope out a situation and report back to someone else. Gossips. The demonic version of a clique of high school girls.”

“But what about those?” Eddie pointed at the trees that lined the perimeter of the cemetery. Their branches were waving, weighed down by the thick, oozing blackness.

Richie looked out with a calm stare. “Those are the shadows the Announcers have summoned. To battle.”

Eddie’s arms and legs went cold with fear. “What… um… what kind of battle is that?”

“The big one,” Richie said simply, raising his chin. “But they’re just showing off right now. We still have time.”

Behind them a tiny cough made Eddie jump. Richie bowed in greeting to Miss Sophia, who was standing in the shadow of the mausoleum. Her hair had come loose from its pins and looked wild and unruly, like her eyes. Then someone else stepped forward from behind Miss Sophia. Penn. Her hands were stuffed into the pockets of her jacket. Her face was still red, and her hairline was damp with sweat. She shrugged at Eddie as if to say I don’t know what the heck is going on, but I couldn’t just abandon you. Despite himself, Eddie smiled. 

Miss Sophia stepped forward and raised the book. “Our Edward has been doing his research.”

Richie rubbed his jaw. “You’ve been reading that old thing? Never should have written it.” He sounded almost bashful—but Eddie slid one more piece of their puzzle into place.

“You wrote that,” Eddie said. “And sketched in the margins. And pasted in that photograph of us.”

“You found the photograph,” Richie said, smiling, holding Eddie closer as if the mention of the picture brought back a rush of memories. “Of course.”

“It took me a while to understand, but when I saw how happy we were, something opened up inside me. And I knew.”

Eddie wrapped a hand around Richie’s neck and pulled his face to his, not even caring that Miss Sophia and Penn were right there. When Richie’s lips touched his, the whole dark, horrid cemetery disappeared—the worn graves, too, and the pockets of shadows rooting around in the trees; even the moon and the stars above.

The first time he’d seen the Helston picture, it had scared him. The idea of all those past versions of himself existing—it was just too much to take in. But now, in Richie’s arms, he could feel all of them somehow working together, a vast consortium of Eddies who’d loved the same Richie over and over and over again. So much love—it spilled out of his heart and his soul, pouring off is body and filling the space between them.

And Eddie at last heard what Richie had said when they were looking at the shadows: that he had done nothing wrong. That there was no reason to feel guilty. Could it be true? Was he innocent of Trevor’s death, of Todd’s, as he’d always believed? The moment he asked himself, he knew that Richie had told him the truth. And he felt like he was waking from a long bad dream. He no longer felt like the boy with the baggy black clothes, no longer the eternal screw-up, afraid of the putrid cemetery, and stuck in reform school for good reason.

“Richie,” he said, gently pushing his shoulders back so he could look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner that you were an angel? Why all that talk about being damned?”

Richie eyed him nervously.

“I’m not mad.” Eddie reassured him. “Only wondering.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Richie said. “It’s all wrapped up together. Until now, I didn’t even know that you could discover it on your own. If I told you too quickly or at the wrong time, you’d be gone again and I would have to wait. I’ve already had to wait so long.”

“How long?” Eddie asked.

“Not so long that I’ve forgotten that you’re worth everything. Every sacrifice. Every pain.” Richie closed his eyes for a moment. Then he looked over at Penn and Miss Sophia.

Penn was seated with her back against a mossy black tombstone. Her knees were curled up to her chin and she was chewing avidly on her fingernails. Miss Sophia had her hands on her hips. She looked like she had something to say.

Richie stepped back, and Eddie felt a rush of cool air waft between them. “I’m still afraid that any minute you could—”

“Richard—” Miss Sophia called reprovingly.

He waved her off. “Our being together, it’s not as simple as you’re going to want it to be.”

“Of course not,” Eddie said. “I mean, you’re an angel, but now that I know it—”

“Edward Kaspbrak.” This time it was Eddie who was the object of Miss Sophia’s anger. “What he has to tell you, you do not want to know,” she warned. “And Richard, you have no right. It will kill him—”

Eddie shook his head, confused by Miss Sophia’s request. “I think I could survive a little truth.”

“It is not a little truth,” Miss Sophia said, stepping forward to position herself between them. “And you will not survive it. As you have not survived it in the thousands of years since the Fall.”

“Richie, what is she talking about?” Eddie reached around Miss Sophia for his wrist, but the librarian fended him off. “I can handle it,” Eddie said, feeling a dry pit of nerves in his stomach. “I don’t want any more secrets. I love him.”

It was the first time he had ever said the words aloud to anyone. His only regret was that he’d directed the most important three words he knew at Miss Sophia instead of at Richie. Eddie turned to him. His eyes were shining. “I do,” Eddie said. “I love you.”

Clap.

Clap. Clap.

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

Slow, loud applause sounded from behind them in the trees. Richie broke away and turned toward the woods, his posture stiffening, as Eddie felt the old fear flood in, felt himself rooted by terror about what Richie was seeing in the shadows, frightened of what he saw before Eddie did.

“Oh, bravo. Bravo! Really, I am touched to my very soul—and not much touches me there these days, sad to say.”

Bill stepped into the clearing. His eyes were rimmed with a thick, shimmering gold shadow, and it shone on his face in the moonlight, making him look like a wildcat.

“That is so incredibly sweet,” he said. “And he just loves you, too—don’t you, lover boy? Don’t you, Richie?”

“Bill,” Richie warned. “Do not do this.”

“Do what?” Bill asked, raising his left arm in the air. He snapped his fingers once and a small flame, the size of a lit match, ignited in the air over his head. “You mean that?”

The echo of his finger snap seemed to linger, to reflect off the tombs in the cemetery, to grow louder and multiply as it bounced back and forth. At first Eddie thought the sound was more applause, as if a demonic auditorium full of darkness were clapping derisively at Eddie and Richie’s love, the way Bill had done. But then he remembered the thundering wingbeats he’d heard earlier. He held his breath as the sound took the form of those thousand bits of flittering darkness. The swarm of locust-shaped shadows that had vanished into the forest reared up overhead once again.

Their drumming was so loud, Eddie had to cover his ears. On the ground, Penn was crouched with her head between her knees. But Richie and Miss Sophia stoically watched the sky as the cacophony grew and changed. It began to sound more like very loud sprinklers going off… or like the hiss of a thousand snakes. 

“Or this?” Bill asked, shrugging as the hideous, formless darkness settled around him.

The insects each began to grow and unfold, becoming larger than any insect could ever be, dripping like glue and growing into black segmented bodies. Then, as if they were learning how to use their shadow limbs as they formed, they slowly hoisted themselves onto their numerous legs and came forward, like mantises grown to human height.

Bill welcomed them as they swarmed around him. Soon they had formed a massive army of embodied night behind Bill.

“I’m sorry,” he said, smacking his forehead with his palm. “Did you tell me not to do that?”

“Richie,” Eddie whispered. “What’s happening?”

“Why did you call an end to the truce?” Richie called to Bill.

“Oh. Well. You know what they say about desperate times.” Bill sneered. “And watching you plaster Eddie’s body with those perfectly angelic kisses of yours… it made me feel so desperate.”

“Shut up, Bill!” Eddie shouted, hating that he’d ever let Bill touch him.

“In good time.” Bill’s eyes rolled over to Eddie. “Oh yes, we’re going to brawl, baby. Over you. Again.” He stroked his chin and narrowed his blue eyes. “Bigger this time, I think. A few more casualties. Deal with it.”

Richie gathered Eddie in his arms. “Tell me why, Bill. You owe me that much.”

“You know why,” Bill boomed, pointing at Eddie. “He’s still here. Won’t be for long, though.”

He put his hands on his hips, and a series of dense black shadows, now shaped like endless fat serpents, slithered up along his body, encircling his arms like bracelets. he petted the largest one’s head dotingly. 

“And this time, when your love blows into that tragic little puff of ash, it’s going to be for good. See, everything’s different this time.” Bill beamed, and Eddie thought he felt Richie quake for just a second.

“Oh, except one thing is the same—and I do have a soft spot for your predictability, Tozier.” Bill took a step forward. His shadow-legions inched up accordingly, making Eddie and Richie, and Penn and Miss Sophia, inch back. “You’re afraid,” he said, pointing dramatically at Richie. “And I’m not.”

“That’s because you have nothing to lose,” Richie spat. “I would never trade places with you.”

“Hmmm,” Bill said, tapping his chin. “We’ll see about that.” He looked around, grinning. “Must I spell it out for you? Yes. I hear you may have something bigger to lose this time. Something that’s going to make annihilating Eddie so much more enjoyable.”

“What are you talking about?” Richie asked.

To Eddie’s left, Miss Sophia opened her mouth and let out a howling of feral noises. She waved her hands wildly over her head in a herking dancelike motion, her eyes almost transparent, as if she were in some sort of trance. Her lips twitched, and Eddie realized with a shock that she was speaking in tongues.

Richie took Miss Sophia’s arm and shook her. “No, you are absolutely right: It doesn’t make sense,” he whispered, and Eddie realized he could understand Miss Sophia’s strange language.

“You know what she’s saying?” Eddie asked.

“Allow us to translate,” a familiar voice shouted from the roof of the mausoleum. Beverly. Next to her was Ben. Both seemed to be lit from behind and were enshrouded in a strange silver glow. They hopped down from the crypt, landing next to Eddie without a sound.

“Bill’s right, Richie,” Ben said quickly. “Something’s different this time… something about Eddie. The cycle could be broken—and not the way we want it to. I mean… it could end.”

“Someone tell me what you’re talking about,” Eddie said, butting in. “What’s different? Broken how? What’s at stake with this whole battle, anyway?”

Richie, Beverly, and Ben all stared at him for a moment as if trying to place him, as if they knew him from somewhere but he’d changed so completely in an instant that they no longer recognized his face.

Finally Beverly spoke up. “At stake?” She rubbed at the scar on her neck. “If they win—it’s Hell on earth. The end of the world as anyone knows it.”

The black shapes screeched around Bill, wrestling with and chewing on each other, in some sort of sick, devilish warm-up.

“And if we win?” Eddie struggled to get out the words.

Ben swallowed, then said gravely, “We don’t know yet.”

Suddenly Richie stumbled back, away from Eddie, and pointed at him. “H-he hasn’t been…,” he stammered, covering his mouth. “The kiss,” he said finally, stepping forward to grip Eddie’s arm. “The book. That’s why you can—”

“Get to part B, Richie,” Beverly prompted. Think fast. Patience is a virtue, and you know how Bill feels about those.”

Richie squeezed Eddie’s hand. “You have to go. You have to get out of here.”

“What? Why?”

He looked at Beverly and Ben for help, then shrank away from them as a host of silver twinkles began to flow over the roof of the mausoleum. Like an endless stream of fireflies released from an enormous mason jar. They rained down on Beverly and Ben, making their eyes shine. It reminded Eddie of fireworks—and of one Fourth of July, when the light had been just right and he’d looked into his mother’s irises and seen the fireworks’ reflection, a booming silvery flash of light, as if his mother’s eyes were a mirror.

Only, these twinkles didn’t peter into smoke like fireworks. When they hit the cemetery grass, they bloomed into graceful, shimmery iridescent beings. They weren’t exactly human shapes, but they were vaguely recognizable. Gorgeous, glowing rays of light. Creatures so ravishing that Eddie knew instantly they were an army of angelic power, equal in size and number to the great black force behind Bill. This was what true beauty and goodness looked like—a spectral, luminescent gathering of beings so pure it hurt to look directly at them, like the most glorious eclipse, or maybe Heaven itself. He should have felt comforted, standing on the side that had to prevail in this fight. But he was starting to feel sick.

Richie pressed the back of his hand to Eddie’s cheek. “He’s feverish.”

Ben patted Eddie on the arm and beamed. “It’s okay,” he said, guiding Richie’s hand away. His voice somehow reassuring. “We’ll take it from here. But you have to go.” He glanced over his shoulder at the horde of blackness behind Bill. “Now.”

Richie pulled Eddie to him for one last embrace.

“I’ll take him,” Miss Sophia called loudly. The book was still tucked under her arm. “I know a safe place.”

“Go,” Richie said. “I’ll find you as soon as I can. Just promise me you’ll run from here, and that you won’t look back.”

Eddie had so many questions. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Beverly stepped between them and gave Eddie a final, rough shove toward the gates. “Sorry, Eddie,” she said. “Time to leave this fight to us. We’re kind of professionals.”

Eddie felt Penn’s hand slide into his, and soon they were running. Pounding up toward the gates of the cemetery as quickly as he’d bounded down on his way to find Richie. Back up the slippery mulch slide. Back through the jagged live oak branches and the ramshackle stacks of broken headstones. They hurdled the stones and jogged up the slope, making for the distant ironwork arch of the gates. Hot wind blew his hair, and the damp air still lay thick in his lungs. He couldn’t find the moon to guide them, and the light in the cemetery’s center was gone now. He didn’t understand what was happening. At all. And he didn’t like it at all that everyone else did.

A bolt of blackness struck the ground in front of him, cracking the earth and opening up a jagged gorge. Eddie and Penn skidded to a halt just in time. The gash was as wide as Eddie was tall, as deep as… well, he couldn’t see down to the dark bottom. The edges of it sizzled and foamed.

Penn gasped. “Eddie. I’m scared.”

“Follow me,” Miss Sophia called.

She led them to the right, winding among the dark graves while blast after blast rang out behind them. “Just the sounds of battle,” she huffed, like some sort of strange tour guide. “That will go on for some while, I fear.”

Eddie winced at every crash, but he kept pushing forward until his calves were burning, until behind him, Penn let out a wail. Eddie turned and saw his friend stumble, her eyes rolling back in her head.

“Penn!” Eddie screamed, reaching out to catch her just before she fell. Tenderly, Eddie lowered her to the ground and rolled her over. He almost wished he hadn’t. Penn’s shoulder had been sliced through by something black and jagged. It had bit into her skin, leaving a charred line of flesh that smelled like burning meat.

“Is it bad?” Penn whispered hoarsely. She blinked rapidly, clearly frustrated at being unable to lift her head up to see for herself.

“No,” Eddie lied, shaking his head. “Just a cut.” He gulped, trying to swallow the nausea rising in him as he tugged Penn’s frayed black sleeve together. “Am I hurting you?”

“I don’t know,” Penn wheezed. “I can’t feel anything.”

“What is the holdup?” Miss Sophia had doubled back.

Eddie looked up at Miss Sophia, willing her not to say how bad Penn’s injury looked.

She didn’t. She gave Eddie a swift nod, then stretched her arms beneath Penn and lifted her up like a parent carrying a child to bed. “I’ve got you,” she said. “It won’t be long now.”

“Hey.” Eddie followed Miss Sophia, who carried Penn’s weight like she was a bag of feathers. “How did you—”

“No questions, not until we’re far away from all of this,” Miss Sophia said.

Far away. Eddie wanted nothing less than to be far away from Richie. And then, after they’d crossed the threshold of the cemetery and were standing on the flat ground of the school commons, he couldn’t help himself. He looked back. And instantly understood why Richie had told him not to.

A twisting silver-gold pillar of fire burst forth from the dark center of the cemetery. It was as wide as the cemetery itself, a braid of light rising hundreds of feet up into the air and boiling away the clouds. The black shadows picked at the light, occasionally tearing tendrils free and carrying them off, shrieking, into the night. As the coiling strands shifted, now more silver, now more gold, a single chord of sound began to fill the air, full and unending, loud as a mighty waterfall. Low notes thundered in the night. High notes chimed to fill the space around them. It was the grandest, most perfectly balanced celestial harmony ever heard on earth. It was beautiful, and horrifying, and everything stank of sulfur.

Everyone for miles around must have believed the world was ending. Eddie didn’t know what to think. His heart seized up.

Richie had told him not to look back because he knew the sight of it would make Eddie want to go to him.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Miss Sophia said, grabbing Eddie by the scruff of the neck and dragging him across campus. When they reached the gymnasium, Eddie realized that Miss Sophia had been carrying Penn the whole time, using only one arm.

“What are you?” Eddie asked as Miss Sophia pushed him through the double doors.

The librarian pulled a long key from the pocket of her beaded red cardigan and slipped it into a part of the brick wall at the front of the foyer that didn’t even look like a door. An entrance to a long stairway opened silently, and Miss Sophia gestured for Eddie to precede her up the stairs.

Penn’s eyes were closed. She was either unconscious or in too much pain to keep them open. Either way, she was staying remarkably quiet.

“Where are we going?” Eddie asked. “We need to get out of here. Where’s your car?” He didn’t want to scare Penn, but they needed to get to a doctor. Fast.

“Quiet, if you know what’s good for you.” Miss Sophia glanced at Penn’s wound and sighed. “We’re going to the only chamber in this place that hasn’t been desecrated with athletic equipment. Where we can be alone.”

By then, Penn had begun groaning in Miss Sophia’s arms. The blood from her wound was a thick, dark stream on the marble floor.

Eddie eyed the steep staircase. He couldn’t even see its end. “I think for Penn’s sake we should stay down here. We’re going to need to get help pretty soon.”

Miss Sophia sighed and laid Penn down on the stone, quickly popping back up to lock the front door they’d just came through. Eddie fell to his knees in front of Penn. His friend looked so small and fragile. In the dim light coming from the delicate wrought iron chandelier overhead, Eddie could at last see how badly she’d been injured.

Penn was the only friend Eddie had at Sword & Cross he could really relate to, the only one he wasn’t intimidated by. After Eddie had seen what Beverly and Ben and Bill were capable of, few things made sense. But one did: Penn was the only kid at Sword & Cross like him.

Except Penn was stronger than Eddie. Smarter and happier and more easygoing. She was the reason Eddie had made it through these first few weeks of reform school at all. Without Penn, who knew where Eddie would be?

“Oh, Penn.” Eddie sighed. “You’re going to be okay. We’re going to get you all fixed up.”

Penn murmured something incomprehensible, which made Eddie nervous. Eddie turned back to Miss Sophia, who was closing all the windows in the foyer one by one.

“She’s fading fast,” Eddie said. “We need to call a doctor.”

“Yes, yes,” Miss Sophia said, but something in her tone sounded preoccupied. She seemed consumed with closing up the building, as if the shadows from the cemetery were on their way here right now.

“Eddie?” Penn whispered. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be.” Eddie squeezed her hand. “You’re so brave. This whole time you’ve been such a pillar of strength.”

“Give me a break,” Miss Sophia said from behind him, in a rough voice Eddie had never heard her use. “She’s a pillar of salt.”

“What?” Eddie asked, confused. “What does that mean?”

Miss Sophia’s beady eyes had narrowed into thin black slits. Her face pinched into wrinkles and she bitterly shook her head. Then, very slowly, from the sleeve of her cardigan, she produced a long silver dagger. “The girl is only slowing us down.”

Eddie’s eyes widened as he watched Miss Sophia raise the dagger over her head. Dazed, Penn didn’t register what was happening, but Eddie certainly did.

“No!” he screamed, reaching up to stop Miss Sophia’s arm, to turn away the dagger. But Miss Sophia knew what he was doing and deftly blocked Eddie’s arm, pushing him aside with her free hand while she dragged the blade across Penn’s throat.

Penn grunted and coughed, her breath turning ragged. Her eyes rolled backward in their sockets the way they did when she was thinking. Except she wasn’t thinking, she was dying. At last her eyes met Eddie’s. Then they slowly dulled and Penn’s breathing quieted.

“Messy but necessary,” Miss Sophia said, wiping the blade clean on Penn’s black sweater.

Eddie stumbled backward, covering his mouth, unable to scream and unable to look away from his dying friend, unable to look at the woman who he’d thought was on their side. Suddenly, he realized why Miss Sophia had bolted all the doors and windows in the foyer. It wasn’t to keep anyone out. It was to keep him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update. This was a longer chapter. I hope you enjoy it


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